Demons Inside
by itslike3inthemorning
Summary: When John Winchester calls for help, Jim Murphy tells his adopted daughter Mackenzie that it's time to use what he's taught her; it's time to hit the road and hunt with Dean & Sam Winchester. Follows episode plots very closely, with addition of OC. Kenzie's journey is to battle the demons without losing herself. PLEASE REVIEW! First FanFic. Rated for Language & (Later) Smut
1. 1x1: Pilot

1x1

There's a storm rolling in. In Minnesota, it's easy to tell. The electricity in the air is almost palpable, the sky gets this weird purple color to it, and the humidity is so heavy you can almost see the air.

 _And for like ten minutes, it's not freezing fucking cold._

Even summers here are too cold, I swear. Jim makes fun of me for constantly shivering, tells me that it's all because I was born in Brazil. The truth is I probably spent most of my first three years in a crowded orphanage, but maybe he's got a point. Or maybe the Pastor is full of shit. Considering the fact that he's forcing me to meet up with some strangers in California, I'm leaning towards the latter as the truth.

I glance down at the black leather wristband wrapped around my arm with a glass covered face and simple black Roman numerals. I have less than five minutes until my flight starts boarding and there is definitely a storm rolling in.

 _Great._ Maybe the damn thing will go down and get me out of all this.

"Here." Jim holds a burnt orange colored folder out to me, a couple papers sticking out through the bottom opening, as they're too long to be contained, and a paper clip over the front flap. "This is what John sent me about the case in Jericho."

I take the folder but I don't open it. "Did he tell you where he is?". The last time John Winchester was here, I was only ten and he didn't bring either of his sons with him so I don't know Dean or Sam. I remember John being really sweet though, and I remember him helping me with the kickback from the shotgun I was learning to shoot. I remember him as a big, kind of burly hunter with a smile and eyes that betrayed his tough exterior

I also know that, right now, John's sons Dean and Sam are searching for him. Jim doesn't know where he is either; I know he wouldn't lie to me. I don't know the boys but something makes me feel for them, searching for their dad. And I really hope John is okay…so that he can explain why the hell he told Jim and Dean that I need to go with his sons on some damn mission with no explanation.

A flight attendant with her hair pulled back so tight that it's forcing a smile onto her face leans toward the mic in front of her and says, "Good afternoon passengers for American Airlines Flight Four-Six-Five to Sacramento. We are now boarding priority passengers and first class. Those passengers may come to the gate for boarding at this time."

I'm not a priority passenger…or a priority anything else. Although apparently John Winchester considers me meeting up with his kids a priority. "He didn't tell me anything," Jim answers a question that I forgot I'd asked. "It's John; he faxed them to the church with no message or return number."

"It's a shame the patrons never find the things he sends you with no message," I mutter, earning a small laugh from Jim. I know he honestly found my little joke funny or he wouldn't have bothered to laugh at all, but I know that he's anxious right now, too. "Looks like a storm rolling in."

"It's got a couple hours; you'll be gone before it hits." OK, so the storm isn't what has him stressed. He's flown before, and we've flown together, so I know it's not flight anxiety. I glance over at him and find that he's watching me. No sense in dodging the issue. "What?"

Jim takes one of those slow, deep breaths that he takes when he's thinking and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he exhales just as slowly. "I've taught you everything I know about hunting, about the world…about how to survive." He looks over at me with a small smile and says, "You're well-prepared for this, I know that."

I cock my head to the side and ask, "Are you trying to convince me or you of that?" He exhales a short snort through his nose and looks down at the floor. My heart aches at his pain…at the idea of leaving him. I reach out and put my hand on Jim's shoulder. "I know. And I'll miss you, too."

"You'd better call me at least once a week," he tells me firmly, turning suddenly to give me his most firm look. "And I know the boys are older than you, but please limit the drinking and no smoking Kenz."

I can't help but laugh. "Jim, you're gonna make people think you're seeing me off to college. You know how much I hate appearing normal."

The same tight-faced flight attendant announces that all the non-priority passengers can board the plane. I stand and swing my duffel bag over my shoulder, strapping it across my body so that I know it's not going anywhere. It's exceptionally heavy right now with all the measures we had to take to sneak my knives through the x-ray at security, so I'm kind of grateful it's too big to go in the overhead and will need to be under my feet. I'm still kind of depressed about the fact that all of my possessions fit into one duffel bag, but I don't want to dwell on bad thoughts while climbing on an airplane during an impending storm.

"The boys know when to pick you up at the airport, but I'll call and make sure they know you're boarding," Jim says, standing beside me. I nod and face him, unsure how to say goodbye at this point. We don't know when I'll be back, how long it'll take to find John, how much work we'll need to do. Jim says Dean wants to be on the road and John says I should be with him. It doesn't make sense, but hunters take orders sometimes. I'm OK with that but it's weird not knowing when I'll get back to the only family I've ever had.

"You'll be safe, right?" I ask him, always concerned about the kind-hearted Pastor who would let someone rob him blind in the name of Jesus.

Jim gives me a look and answers, "Yes," in a way that makes him sound like the eighteen-year-old off to face the world. It makes me smile. "I need to tell you that, though. Please try to keep your head on straight." His firm parenting face is back on and I know what he's referring to, so I can't stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"I'll try not to set anything on fire," I quip even though I know it's not funny.

"Not funny."

"I know." Jim breaks my cardinal rule by breaking my personal bubble and rubs my head playfully, sending my hair flying in all directions. He's lucky I think it's funny and am sad enough about leaving him that I don't mind the show of affection. Still, I push his hand away before the anxiety can start to rise and, laughing, put my hair back in order.

I take a step backwards, away from Jim and toward the airplane. "You be good now, Pastor."

"You too, Mackenzie." He's got that super fond look in his eyes that makes me feel uncomfortable and unworthy. Time to go. I press my hand to my mouth, kiss it, and then open my arm to extend the kiss symbolically toward him. Jim positively beams – something he hasn't done since I shot my first deer at five years old.

 _That's the kind of note I can leave on._

One final glance and I'm gone, boarding a plane for Sacramento to meet and hunt with two guys I've never met. They're on a mission to find their father. Me? Their dad and Jim say I have a mission, but I have no idea what it is. For the moment, I'm just along for the ride.

 **…** **2 hours later…**

Why am I not relieved that the plane didn't crash? I should be relieved. Instead, as the plane lands, I'm legitimately disappointed. It could have been an easy way out of what is guaranteed to become ridiculous complicated; how could going on my first hunt with strangers on a mission to find their dad not be complicated? It would just be simpler if I hadn't arrived at all.

 _Shit, there is something seriously wrong with me._

Realistically, I'd be disappointed if I died next to a morbidly obese guy with terrible acne who smells like onions. I'm grateful when the plane stops outside of the tiny, two-terminal airport in Sacramento and my time next to the onion-guy is limited. I stand expectantly although I should have assumed that it would take him longer than normal to get out of his seat. Trapped between his all-gray sweat suit and the window, I have to hold my breath as he stands and his girth seems to expand tenfold when no longer trapped in between the arms of the polyester seat.

I could kiss the string bean lady that's behind us for letting the giant, sweaty onion on legs out into the aisle. I gladly wait for another dozen people to pass before asserting myself, taking an opening and slipping myself into it with my duffel strapped securely to my back. No one complains about it, which is really one of the few benefits to being so little. The line moves slowly but steadily, pushing toward the exit where a pretty brunette chick is telling everyone to have a good time and enjoy their stay. A guy with way too much gel in his hair holds up the line, pausing to flirt with the brunette who keeps her polite smile in place when she shoots him. That guy didn't even look at me.

 _Not all women are built for the same things_.

I continue with the others, offering the girl a polite smile to match the one she gives me as I continue. In big airports, you exit the plane into what is basically a tunnel leading into terminal. I hate those tunnels – all corrugated plastic, fluorescent light, and tight spaces. At small airports, you go right down the stairs at the open door and onto the tarmac.

I like open spaces.

The air in Sacramento is not heavy or humid or hot like it was with a storm rolling in from Canada into Minnesota. It's warm but there's a light breeze making it comfortable and the sun shines down, uninterrupted by clouds. It's kind of a beautiful day, despite the circumstances. I've always wondered why people assume that the weather will associate with their mood…but I do it, too. I'm only human, I guess.

As we descend the stairs, most of the passengers are heading into the airport through a door about twenty yards away. I file into that line, assuming I'll meet Sam and Dean inside. I don't get far before a loud whistle – the kind that sports fans do with their fingers in their mouth that I've never been able to master – rings out and everyone turns to look. There's a gate, opened, about fifty yards off to the left of the door. On the other side of the gate, a black muscle car that looks like a classic is parked and two tall, muscular guys are standing in front of it. One of them is waving one arm calmly, like they want someone's attention.

Jim said that Dean drives an old black Impala. Actually, he said that Dean is obsessed with his old black Impala but that's a different story. I realize that it could easily be Sam and Dean Winchester, whistling and waving to catch my eye. It could also be strangers who are here to kidnap someone. Either way, I start making my way across the lot and toward them. It's not like I couldn't take a grown man down anyway.

The closer I get, the more I start to wish that I wasn't wearing my oldest, softest pair of jeans and an ratty old Depeche Mode t-shirt with no makeup. Plus, I smell like airplane. I probably smell like onion-filled airplane and I'm now ten yards from the hottest guys I've ever seen.

 _Holy crap._

I was expecting large surly guys with kind smiles, guys that look like their dad. One is shorter, maybe a little bulkier. He's wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket in exactly the way they deserve to be worn. There's something rugged about his face; maybe it's the shadow of stubble on his jaw line. He's hot, that's for sure. But it's the taller one that really catches my attention. His face is younger, so I think he's Sam and not Dean. His brown hair is kind of long, shaggy, and falling onto his forehead and over his ears. He's more cute than hot but I like it, and he's got a better, more muscular build than his brother even though he's thinner.

Sam and Dean Winchester are damn gorgeous, and I smell like the fat guy on the airplane.

 _Great._

Dean – I think – nods toward me as I get to the gate and calls, "Mackenzie Murphy?"

"Just Kenzie, but yeah that's me," I answer with a small nod. "Dean and Sam, yeah?" I motion to them in turn with my educated guess at their names, and they nod so I guess I was right.

"You got any other bags?" Dean asks. I shake my head and he nods, seemingly pleased with that response. I'm sure the guys were expecting a liability. They might be getting it, of course; I'm still not really sure. I can try my best, though. I adjust my shoulder strap because I hate standing still and Dean motions for me to head toward the car as they do.

I walk to the passenger side, behind Sam. He opens the door and says, "You can have shotgun."

I step around him quickly, putting myself between him and the car, and I remove my bag to toss it over the bench seats and into the back. "I'm fine back here; there's more room anyway." I find the latch for the seat and pull it up, pushing the seat to lean down so that I can climb in. There's actually a ton of room back here; I think the seat is bigger than my mattress back at home. Plus, I really don't want any favors or special accommodations.

Sam raises his eyebrows for a moment before climbing into the car in the front seat, with the seat upright again. Dean is already in the driver's seat and he starts the engine with a roar, punching the gas so hard that it throws me back into the leather seat. I watch Sam turn and frown at his brother who flashes a big smile at him with only makes Sam roll his eyes.

Enough of that. I reach into my duffel and find the folder that Jim gave me before getting on the plan. I managed to flash through it while the big guy was asleep, but I ask them, "So the case in Jericho. Have you guys been there yet?"

"We passed through on the way here," Sam answers. He turns slightly in his seat, angling his body so that he's talking into the car instead of at the windshield. "There was a third victim."

I feel my stomach tighten. I hate the idea of victims, of any crime.

"Same story," he continues. I notice as he glances at me that his eyes may actually be hazel and not blue the way I thought at first. "Guy was driving down the same stretch of highway and just vanished, they found his car abandoned on a bridge. Nothing in the river."

"He was on the phone with his girlfriend, Amy, when he hung up suddenly," Dean chimes in, glancing at me through the rear view mirror. His eyes are definitely green. They don't look much alike.

 _I really need to focus_.

"Have you talked to Amy yet?" I ask.

Sam shakes his head a little, shaggy hair waving a bit. "No, we came to pick you up first."

"There's also this." Dean pulls a cell phone from his pocket and flips it open, pressing a couple buttons until a messages starts to play on speakerphone. I recognize John Winchester's voice, telling the boys to get to Jericho after they get me. He's saying something about a big thing that's starting, but he's terribly vague. Still, it's not the voice or the words that catch my attention, though.

"Have you analyzed the EVP yet? What's that woman's voice saying?" I ask, leaning forward a little. I watch them exchange glances and I'm sure it took them a few listens to hear a voice through the EVP, so I tell them, "I have good hearing."

"Apparently," Dean notes. "Anyway, we took a better listen and she's saying, 'I can never go home.'" That's weird.

"So a road haunted by a spirit that can't go home," I mumble.

Sam nods and says, "Sounds like it. We figured our next step should be talking to the most recent victim's girlfriend."

"Sounds good." I press a hand to my growling stomach – thankfully growling quietly – and ask, "Can we make a stop for something to eat first? Those damn little bags of peanuts only actually make you hungrier."

Dean slaps the steering wheel enthusiastically when he answers, "Yes! Now that is a plan." Sam glances back at me and shakes his head a little, rolling his eyes at his brother. I can't help but smile at both of them.

It's only been ten minutes but I'm not entirely uncomfortable or miserable. I'm going to do my best to take Jim's advice and stay positive about the whole thing. If there's a mission or a job, it must be done; that's just the way this life is. I get it. Still, if I need to do this job, it's nice that Sam and Dean Winchester don't come off as complete assholes.

 **...After Lunch…**

It's official: Dean always drives like a maniac. He's speeding into town after lunch. Fortunately, I just had a delicious burger so I don't care as much. "Okay so we need to go find this Amy girl," Dean announces.

"Cops said she's pretty upset and has been putting up 'missing' posters downtown," Sam chimes in. "We might just get lucky and find her."

"She's putting up missing posters?" I repeat. Sam nods and make a

'hmm' noise that I didn't really mean for anyone else to hear.

"What?" he asks, tone more curious than anything.

I shrug my shoulders. "The last guy disappeared, what, last month? And there have been ten more in the last twenty years so she must know that. The victim has never turned up or come home – not even a body." I shake my head a little and admit, "It always just kind of blows my mind that people can keep up hope when shit just seems so obviously…shitty."

"Are you saying we shouldn't be hopeful about finding our dad?" Dean demands. His tone is kind of angry and it catches me off guard so I meet his eyes in the rear view mirror, finding frustration written all over his face. He might sound angry but it's pretty easy to see he's just worried about his dad.

"Dean," Sam says, voice soft and retraining but warning, too.

"I've met your dad," I tell Dean directly but Sam, too. "Actually he taught me out to properly handle a sawed off. And Jim has known him for decades so I've heard about a thousand stories. I'm not sure there's anything out there that could actually take down John Winchester." Dean's face softens and he looks away. "But a civilian driving on a haunted stretch of road? Yeah, I don't have the same level of hope." I look over to Sam then back to Dean and ask, "We good here? Can we move one to finding Amy now?" Dean nods but says nothing else. I think he's over it. Normally I wouldn't care about pissing someone off, but I get how upset Dean is and I don't want to start off on the wrong foot with these guys. Granted, I also really don't want anymore sappy moments where I need to explain myself.

 _This is why I usually just don't talk_.

"So how'd you pay for lunch, Dean?" Sam asks him. I can't help but raise my eyebrows at the question and at Sam's tone when he asks. Dean, however, seems totally nonplussed. "You and dad still running credit card scams?"

 _And now I'm uncomfortable._

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro-ball career," Dean replies casually. "Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards." He turns to flash a smile at his brother who clearly is not amused.

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?"

Dean doesn't miss a beat or drop his smile. "Bert Aframian and his son, Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal."

"Sounds about right," Sam scoffs at his brother. As much as I didn't want them to give me special treatment, I didn't expect them to argue morality right in front of me. There's no way I'm getting involved in that conversation, but the tense silence for the next minute is awful. I consider pulling out my knives and seeing if I could actually cut the tension, the way the saying goes.

Sam breaks the silence when he reaches for a box under the dashboard at his feet. "I swear man, you have got to update your cassette tape collection."

"Why?"

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes," I chime in. Dean shoots me a playfully angry look through the rear view mirror that makes me laugh.

Sam laughs and adds, "Yeah, and two…Black Sabbath, Metallica, Motorhead? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Dean snatches the box from Sam's hands and cradles it in his arm indignantly. "House rules, assholes. Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts his cakehole." Without thinking, I laugh honestly and loud. I don't even know the last time I laughed like that but it's somehow contagious and within moments, both guys are laughing with me until we're all wiping at our eyes.

We cruise along Jericho's main drag and I notice the multi-colored posters with the word 'MISSING' printed along the top and a picture of a guy, probably around my age. Two girls stand outside a movie theatre, wielding staple guns and plastering the bulletin board with the posters.

"One of them must be Amy," Sam muses while Dean pulls the car over, knowing we've all spotted the girls.

"Yeah probably the one who's all misty eyed," Dean notes. One of the girls, the shorter of the two, is indeed wiping her eyes. He's likely right. We get out of the car together, Sam holding the door for me, and start to approach them. I consider asking what our line is going to be in order to get information from Amy, but Dean isn't waiting for discussion. "You must be Amy," he says, stopping a couple feet behind her. Sam and I stop, just behind Dean, while Amy turns around.

"Yeah?" she answers, question in her voice. No sense in appearing nervous after you confirm your identity.

 _What's wrong with people?_

"Troy told us about you," Dean tells her.

"Yeah, we're his uncles," Sam chimes in. He glances down at me and adds, "And, um…my girlfriend." When his hand clasps mine, my breath hitches in my throat. My first reaction is totally normal – punch him in the gut and then kick him in the face. No physical contact: my first rule of conduct. What the fuck?

With Amy's eyes on me, I know I can't blow this. I force a smile and try to get my shoulders to relax even as I feel a shudder pass through me. I hope Sam didn't notice that. I might be freaking out but I don't really need him to know it.

"I'm Dean," he says, jumping in to break the silence while I panic. Crap. "And this is Sammy and Kenzie." At least he used the right name for me, but I catch him smirk at having used Sam's nickname.

"He never mentioned you to me," Amy admits softly. She looks very sad and I feel it tug on my heart.

"Well, that's Troy, I guess," Dean suggest kind of awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders like he's trying to make an inside joke with the girl. I'm not sure this chick is in the mood to joke about her missing boyfriend and his tendency to leave out information.

Sam jumps in. "We're not around much; we're up in Modesto."

I realize that we're making small talk and instantly get agitated. I don't chat. "So, we're looking for him too," I tell her, keeping my hold on Sam's hand but only because I have to. "And we're kind of asking around."

Amy's friend appears at her side. She places a hand on her friend's shoulder and looks at the three of us warily. "Are you okay?" Amy nods but her friend doesn't go away. We need to get off the street and talk.

"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Sam asks gently. When she agrees, we direct both girls into a diner right across the street. We grab a table but the waitress seems to know that we're not there for food because she doesn't come over. Maybe she knows Amy; that wouldn't be weird in such a small town. We sit down in one of those round booths. Dean ends up in the middle of the booth, at the curve, and I sit in between him and Sam. Amy and her friend sit across from us and I can tell they both feel weird about this.

"What happened?" I ask, leaning forward and resting my hands on the table between us. It's something Jim does that makes the other person feel closer without having their personal space invaded. I hate when he does it to me, mostly because it works.

Amy takes a breath. "I was on the phone with Troy." Her voice shakes a little at his name. "He was driving home. He said he would call me right back…and he never did." She shifts a little and I notice a silver pentagram hanging from her neck on a thin chain. It seems out of place.

"I like your necklace," I tell her. I feel Dean and Sam shift as they look for it and Amy instinctively reaches it for the chain, holding it between her thumb and index fingers.

"Troy gave it to me," she notes softly. A smile flits across her face and she adds, "Mostly to scare my parents. You know, devil stuff."

I blink but bite my tongue. Sam is apparently less successful at that because he clears his throat a little and notes, "Actually, it means just the opposite of that." Amy just stares at him so he continues, "A pentagram is a protection against evil." While I wish he'd get back on topic, Amy continues to stare and Sam continues, "Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing."

"OK! Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries," Dean teases, giving Sam a pointed look with wide green eyes.

 _Christ, let's just get to where we need to be._

"Here's the deal," I begin, getting Amy's attention. "The way Troy disappeared? Something's not right. So if you've heard anything…"

Before I even finish my sentence, the girls exchange a glance and Amy shakes her head at her friend. The guys notice their exchange, of course, and Dean presses, "What is it?"

"Well, it's just…I mean, with all these people going missing, people talk," Amy tells us.

"What do they talk about?" Sam asks.

It's Amy's friend who answers, "It's kind of a local legend." My ears perk up and the guys on either side of me both lean forward, interested. "This one girl. She got murdered out on Centennial like, decades ago." The girls exchange glances and she continues, "Supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes and whoever picks her up…well, they disappear forever."

 **…** **An Hour Later…**

We head to the town library to get some research done on this girl who died out on Centennial. Sure that the guys could handle a Google search, I decided to take on the manual stuff so I'm sitting at a table about fifteen feet behind them and going through archived newspapers.

I hear Dean say, "Let me try," and glance up. Sam is sitting in front of the computer but Dean is trying to move him.

"I got it," Sam replies.

"Dude." They glare at each other for a second before Sam relents and they switch seats. Dean quips, "You're such a control freak." I roll my eyes and look back down at the newspapers. After a pause, I hear Dean ask, "So what do you think of Mack?"

I tense a little but don't dare tell them I can hear. It's better to know the truth, anyway. I'll confess my sins to Jim later. "Isn't her name Kenzie?" Sam asks, skirting the issue although he has a point. I don't think anyone has ever called me 'Mack' before. Granted, I've been called worse.

"Oh, come on," Dead says. "Chick jumps on a plane to meet up with strangers for a hunt just because our dad asked her to. Plus, did you get a look at her knife kit?"

 _They better not touch my knife kit._

"She's kind of a badass," Dean continues. He sounds serious and I find it nearly laughable. I nearly had a panic attack when Sam held my hand, but I'm a badass? Unlikely. "A badass deserves a cool nickname…like Mack." Dean sounds proud of himself for thinking of the name and I roll my eyes even though he can't see me.

Sam laughs and notes, "I guess I know your opinion on her then. You'd better ask for Jim's permission before you try to sleep with her." My stomach flops and I nearly fall off the chair I'm seated on. If Dean tries to sleep with me, he'll get a real good look at my knives.

"You know…I'm not gonna," Dean says. He sounds like it's a surprise to him. "I don't know if it's because she's Pastor Jim's kid or what but, I just don't get those kind of tingles from her."

 _I don't know if I should be relieved or insulted._

"Do you think she's pretty?" Sam asks. Now I'm sure if I wanna hear the answer to this, but if I tell them now that I can hear them, they'll know I've been listening.

"I can tell by the way you asked that question that you think she's pretty," Dean says in a teasing voice.

"I have a girlfriend, Dean," the younger brother says. I try not to notice that neither of them actually answered the question. I prefer it that way, really.

Dean retorts, "Yeah, but your girlfriend isn't a badass hunter. Anyway, I think I have an idea." He turns toward me and calls, "Hey Mack, come here."

"Whatcha got?" I ask, heading toward them. I sit on the edge of the computer table, facing the guys instead of the screen. We don't all need to read the same thing at the same time.

"We can't find any records of women murdered out on Centennial highway," Sam answers. He looks a little discouraged. Jim said that he's in school now so I have a feeling he's used to being better at research.

"Okay but here," Dean says, typing. "Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right? Maybe it's not murder." He clicks the mouse pad and nods. "Got one, from 1981." I sit down on the edge of the bed I'll be sleeping in tonight. Sam circles the table to stand behind Dean and look over his shoulder.

Dean continues, "Constance Welch, 24 years old, jumps off of Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river."

"Did they say why she did it?" I ask.

"Yeah, an hour before they found her, she calls 911," he answers. "Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both died." Sam, reading from the screen, says, "'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband, Joseph Welch."

Dean points at the screen and asks Dean, "Does that bridge look familiar to you?"

Recognition crosses Sam's face and he looks up at me. "Sylvania Bridge is where Troy's car was found, abandoned."

"Looks like we're taking a field trip."

 **…** **10PM, Sylvania Bridge…**

Sylvania Bridge isn't huge – maybe five hundred feet – but it cuts over a fast-moving river that looks muddy even at night. It's mostly wood with some of it's updated parts in metal. Standing in the middle, I'm grateful that it's not covered. Dean leans over the railing beside me and says, "So, this is where Constance took the swan dive."

"You think your dad would have been here?" I ask.

Dean shrugs his shoulders and answers, "Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him."

"Okay, so now what?" Sam asks from behind us. I turn, leaning on the railing now, and find him frowning with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

"Now we keep digging until we find him," Dean answers, not turning.

I nod in agreement – that is the reason Jim sent me, after all – but note, "Might take awhile."

"Dean. I told you I've got to get back by Monday," Sam says. I frown because I'd known nothing about that. I thought the brothers were looking for their dad together. Dean scoffs softly beside me and turns around, taking a step toward his little brother.

"Right. The interview."

"Yeah," Sam nods.

"Yeah, I forgot." Dean pauses and shakes his head for a moment but then seems to lose the battle to shut up and his throws his hands up a little. "You're really serious about this aren't you?" he demands. "You think you're just gonna become some lawyer? Marry your girl?"

"Maybe!" Sam exclaims, not moving his hand but leaning forward slightly. "Why not?" I bite my tongue. There are about a thousand obvious answers to that question from a hunter – or the son of a hunter who's missing.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you?" Dean asks. "Does she know about the things you've done?"

"No, and she's not ever going to," Sam answers as if it's the most obvious thing in world.

I try to fight the frown off my face but agree when Dean replies, "That's healthy." He shakes his head and continues, "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are."

"And who is that?"

Dean motions back toward me and responds, "One of us!"

"No!" Sam protests. "I'm not like you." He's only looking at Dean when he says it, but it'd be hard not to take it as an insult. What's so bad about being one of us? Like Jim, like John? I can see from Dean's expression that he's hurt by it, too. Sam motions around us and says, "This is not going to be my life."

Dean gets a look of disgust on his face and turns away. I find myself becoming annoyed with Sam. Doesn't he want to find his dad.

"Sam," I begin softly. "You have a responsibility."

"To dad?" Sam shouts suddenly. "And his crusade to avenge my mom's death?" Jim told me all about John's obsession with the monster that killed their mother. If it were me, I'd have the same obsession so all I can do is frown while Sam continues, "If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what mom looks like." Dean scoffs loudly this time and shakes his head. "And what different would it make anyway? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone and she isn't coming back!"

Apparently that's enough for Dean because he lunges at his brother and shoves him hard, sending Sam backward into the railing. "Dean," I say softly in warning. We don't need another angry spirit forming here.

Just as that thought occurs to me, something catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I hear Dean warn Sam, "Don't talk about her like that," as a woman appears on the middle of the bridge maybe ten feet from us. She's wearing all white and her skin is that distinctly, sickly and opaque white that all spirits have. Constance looks right at us, making eye contact with me as she approaches the railing and passes through it to stand on the edge of the bridge.

"Guys," I breathe. I'm sure they've heard me by the utter silence behind me as if they're holding their breaths. Constance. Maybe if I can stop her from jumping, we can get somewhere. I lift my foot to take a step forward and she moves, falling forward into the river.

 _Shit._

I break into a run toward the spot where she'd jumped and feel footsteps behind me on the bridge. At the railing, we all lean over for a look but there's nothing in the water. A roar, like a car engine, starts from behind us. Dean's car, sitting at the end of the bridge where we'd parked it, is now running. Suddenly, we're awash in headlights and I wince away from it until tires start squealing. There's a moment where I'm unsure what's happening and then I realize that the car is speeding toward us.

The guys must realize it at the same moment because Sam grabs my hand and says, "Go!"

The three of us spin and take off. I'm fast, but I'm not willing to lose pace with the guys and the car is catching us. "Go!" I shout, motioning toward the end of the bridge. We're not at the highest point anymore and it occurs to me that even if we fall in the river, we might make it at this point. I reach the railing between Dean and Sam, place my hand on the metal and swing myself over. Dean goes flying past my head into the water, but just as I manage to grab onto the metal base of the bridge Sam lands beside me, grabbing onto the same ledge.

He's panting as hard as I'm sure I am, the two of us swinging twenty feet over the water. "Can you get up?" he asks.

"You're the one who has all that body weight to lift," I remind him breathlessly, pulling forward with my biceps and curling my legs to bring them toward the bottom of the ledge. With my feet steady, I reach one arm up and grab the railing of the bridge, pulling myself up until I'm standing and keeping my feet planting firmly. Beside me, Sam grunts as he has to use his arms alone to get himself up onto the railing. I step up onto the bridge and then swing my leg over, getting onto the solid ground and taking a breath before grabbing Sam's shoulder just as he reaches the top of the rail. I pull as hard as I can and feel him let me yank him over the rail so that he lands on his side on the bridge.

He jumps right up and turns back to the railing, leaning over. "Dean!" I follow suit and search the water with my eyes, but see nothing. "Dean!" Sam shouts again.

"What?" Dean shouts in response, loud and annoyed from where he lays in the mud on the bank. I can't help but laugh, half in relief that he's out of the water and half because he's disgusting.

"Are you alright?" I ask him.

"I'm super." His response only makes me laugh louder and I hear Sam chuckle from beside me as Dean flips us off. I turn away from the railing as Dean starts to get himself together, moving to the edge of the water to clean off his face I guess. The bridge looks quiet now, the Impala stopped and turned off a few feet away from us.

Sam is giving the car a once over as Dean starts walking toward us from the end of the bridge. "Is Baby alright?" he demands.

"Yeah. Whatever she did to it, it seems alright now," Sam answers. Dean hurries over to it anyway and does his own inspection, yanking the door open and checking the inside.

"That Constance chick," he mutters, standing up with his forearms rested on the top of the car. Suddenly he shouts, "What a bitch!"

"She doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure," I agree. Jim cannot know that a spirit tried to chase me off a bridge on my first day. The poor guy would have a heart attack. I feel oddly revitalized, though, and head toward the car.

"So where does the trail go from here?" Sam wonders aloud.

Just then the breeze shifts and sends Dean's scent wafting toward me. I wince and tell him honestly, "You smell like a toilet."

 **…** **Half Hour Later, Blue Moon Motel…**

The guys pick the cheapest and closest motel in town, which is totally fine with me. I'm not even sure why a town like Jericho has a motel. It's not exactly the kind of place travelers pass through, but it's good news for us. Dean heads into the hotel to rent a room – with at least two beds and a couch – while I wait with Sam, sitting on the hood of the car. The hotel has kind of a rustic look to it which is weird in this area. I'm not enthusiastic about seeing the room based on the exterior but I'm sure it's the worst place I've ever been; I have some memory of the orphanage where Jim found me in Brazil.

"That was interesting," Sam muses from beside me.

"You mean the spirit trying to kill us or the fact that you're going to law school?" I ask him.

Sam sighs. "Look, I know you grew up in this life, too. But…you don't know what it's like when your dad is just completely obsessed."

I can't help a humorless laugh. "You're right. But I also don't actually know what it's like to have a dad at all." Sam looks down at me with that look people get when they realize just how much of their foot is in their mouth. I shake my head and focus on my eyes on my sneakers. "Count your blessings, Sam. If it was Jim, nothing could stop me from finding him."

I feel Sam's eyes on me as he looks down, but I don't return his gaze. If I'm being honest, I'm kind of annoyed by him right now. His dad is missing on a hunt and he's going back to law school and a girlfriend that I'm sure is just adorable. It doesn't make sense to me. Actually, it feels like he's taking his dad for granted.

"Hey," Dean calls, walking quickly toward us. He has a hotel key in his hand but a strange look on his face. "It turns out Dad was here; rented a room for a whole month." Sam and I both stand up at the same time while Dean waves the key at us to show us he got the same room. It's in the middle of a long path facing the parking lot on the first floor. I can sense their apprehension as Dean opens the door and we enter.

 _Yeah, a hunter was definitely staying here_.

The walls are plastered in the kind of material that will land anyone in a nut house; pictures of monsters and ancient symbols everywhere. The room is small and dimly lit with two double beds in the middle, a desk cluttered in papers and crap, and a tiny closet of a bathroom. Dean picks up a half-eaten cheeseburger on the bedside table between the two beds and sniffs it before grimacing. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least."

In the corner of the room, above the desk, I recognize a picture of Sylvania bridge and walk toward it. "Look," I tell them. "Centennial Highway victims." John had pictures of all the victims stapled up to the wall. I keep searching the wall to find what else he'd found.

"I don't get it," Sam says from beside me, rifling through papers on the desk. "I mean different men, different jobs, different ethnicities."

"Yeah, but there's always a connection," Dean notes. "What's the connection?" My eyes move to the other side of the wall and to the same article that Dean found, describing the suicide. Directly beside it is a creepy drawing of a woman wearing a dress, standing in a field. I have to smile when it hits me.

"Your dad figured it out," I tell the guys.

"What do you mean?" Sam asks.

"He found the same article we did," I explain. "Constance Welch." I turn back to them and say, completely sure, "She's a woman in white." Realization dawns on both of their faces.

Dean smirks a bit and looks at the pictures of the victims when he murmurs, "You sly dogs."

 _Scumbag dogs is more like it_.

Suddenly I hate Constance Welch a lot less. I turn back to the other research John had done and scan it quickly. "Alright, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."

"Maybe she has another weakness," I mumble, thinking out loud.

"No, Dad would want to make sure," Dean says. "He'd dig her up." No matter how many times I hear that, I always find it disturbing. I don't say that now, though. "Does it say where she's buried?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "No, not that I can tell." I sigh and turn back to them. "If I were John, though, I'd go ask her husband. If he's still alive."

"I'll see if I can find an address," Sam says, going into his bag for his laptop and sitting down on the edge of one of the mattresses.

"I'm gonna get cleaned up," Dean says, heading past me toward the bathroom. I can't help but grimace at the smell as he passes me and Dean notices, stopping to open his arms and beam at me. "You wanna come hug a toilet?"

I laugh but dodge under his arms and tell him, "Not without a whole lot of tequila, thanks." Dean laughs and then heads for the bathroom, whistling on the way.

"Hey Dean," Sam calls to him. Dean pauses and turns around while I sit down on the available mattress. "What I said earlier about mom and dad? I'm sorry." I'm surprised Sam apologized, but happy to. He should.

"No chick-flick moments," Dean tells him, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. I roll my eyes.

"Alright. Jerk," Sam replies.

"Bitch."

I scoff and tell them, "You two are so stupid."

 **…** **1 Hour Later, Library…**

While Dean showered and Sam tried to find an address on the husband, I decided to take a trip back to the library and do some research. Legends usually exist for a reason, and it's important to know that they're full of truth. I want to look into the various 'woman in white' legends. Most of them are about the same.

A 'woman in white' or sometimes a 'weeping woman' is a phenomenon of sorts. They're spirits that have been sighted for hundred of years in dozens of places, from Hawaii to Mexico and recently in Arizona and Indiana. All of them are different women, but they all have the same story. When the women were alive, their husbands were unfaithful. The women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children. Then, when they realize what they've done, they take their own lives. So the spirits become cursed, walking back roads and waterways. If they find an unfaithful man, they kill him and that man is never seen again.

Between the legends and the research John did, my attention gets turned to the house itself. I assume it's still standing and John wrote down a different address that likely belongs to the husband now. But John didn't did up the plot and that makes me wonder if we need to. I think I'm onto something, though, and I reach out to pick my phone and call Sam when it rings because Dean is calling me. "Hey, what's up?"

"Sam is in trouble," Dean says on the other end.

"What?" I demand. My heart rate escalates and I immediately start packing my papers away, preparing to leave right away.

"I got picked up by the cops, so we weren't together," Dean explains. "He went to talk to the husband but I found my dad's journal, and he's not here anymore."

"What do you mean he's not here?"

"He left town and left coordinates for where he wants us to go," Dean says. "It's the same old ex-Marine crap he always pulls when he wants to let us know where he's going." I roll my eyes because that is crap. "Anyway, I was telling Sammy all this on the phone when all of a sudden he yelled and then he was gone. EVP before the call cut out."

"Please don't tell me he was driving on Centennial," I breathe.

"Yeah, he was headed for the plot behind the old house to burn the broad. I guess my dad never got around to it before he bailed."

"Dean, I'll come pick you up," I tell him, jumping up. "I know where she's taking him and I know how to take her down." Dean tells me where he's gone, hiding from the cops now, and I practically run out of the library. I'd jacked some broken up Honda to get here and I jump back into it, driving as quickly as the car will let me go. Dean is standing on a dark street corner but jumps into the car before it stops moving completely. I hit pedal to metal and tear off toward Centennial.

"What do you have?" Dean asked.

"The EVP on the voicemail your dad left," I begin, breathless from adrenaline. "She said, 'I can never go home'.

"So?"

"Well her home is still there – she _can_ go home, but then she'd have to reunite with her kids," I explain.

Dean blinks and finishes, "The kids she murdered."

"Exactly, and she's way too wrought with guilt to do that – that's why she's a spirit in the first place. So there are a few legends that say you can take down a woman in white just by bringing her home to her kids," I explain. "She's going to take the car to the house where she committed her crimes, but not inside."

"We have to drive the bitch home," Dean surmises. He takes a breath and says, "Drive faster."

"This isn't the Impala, I'm trying," I admit, pressing the engine as hard as it will go. The car is starting to struggle and we're only hitting eighty. "Your dad had the address to the house…before he left, I guess." I glance over and ask, "Why would he leave in the middle of a hunt?"

"No idea," Dean answers. "It must have been pretty important, though for him to just up and leave."

 _That doesn't sound like the John Winchester I've heard about._

Dean is on his cell phone, trying to call Sam I'm sure, but curses under his breath before shutting the phone again and dropping it hard on the dashboard. I barely breathe at all as we barrel down the road. I realize what a disaster it would be if my first hunt didn't go well in the first place, but to think of Sam being hurt makes me kind of nauseous. He's only a few years older than I am and he obviously has so much left to work out with his brother and father. And he seems like a genuinely good guy, even if he is unwilling to face his family's future and their past.

I only get more anxious as the house comes into view at the end of Centennial, just off the side and visible as the little stolen car chugs its way uphill. The Impala is there, parked out front of the house, with the engine not running. "Let's hope Sam has some honor," I mumble, driving right through the gate at the end of the property. The car is barely stopped before Dean barrels out, wielding a gun and running for the Impala.

"Sammy!" he shouts. As I jump out, Dean shoots three times through the window.

 _Sam is in the car_.

I run as fast as I can, catching Dean and grabbing him. He's only going to piss off a spirit by shooting it, even if he's only trying to stop the thing for a second to save his brother. I can see what drove Dean to shoot. Sam is in the driver's seat, and the ghost of Constance Welch is straddling his lap. "Sam!" I shout. "Take her home!"

Sam glances over at me, panic and confusion in his glimmering eyes, and I see realization hit him. Thank God it's the smart brother in the car. We can hear Sam yell in pain and I have to work to restrain Dean from firing but before he has a chance to shove me, the Impala roars to life. With no hesitation, Sam guns the car right up the steps to the front porch and through the front wall of the house, stopping just as the trunk disappears inside.

"Sam!" Dean shouts as we start running at the same time.

It takes us a second to get around the wreckage caused by the car and inside, but I manage to slip through first and call out, "Sam!"

"Here," I hear him say from inside the car. I make it to the passenger door and yank it open. He looks a little winded but there's no blood or bruises.

"You okay?" Dean asks, arriving at the driver's side and opening that door as well.

"Can you move?" I ask him, unsure of how injured he is after driving a car into a house. The impact was pretty hard.

"Yeah, I think," he tells us. I extend a hand inside the car because there's more space for an escape out this door, and Sam takes it. He lets me help him out of the car before leaning heavily against it. Dean climbs over the hood and gives his brother a once over.

"Help me." I whirl around at the voice, instinctively reaching for the knife in the side of my jeans. Before I can grab it or Dean can get another shot off, Constance who is standing beside a dresser, makes her move. The dresser comes flying at us, hitting my chest hard and pinning all three of us against the car. I have to gasp at the impact and the air loss, but recover quickly and start to push against it with the guys. It's not moving and I'm keeping an eye on Constance who looks damn pissed.

I'd really thought bringing her home would be the answer, and I'm beginning to hate myself when something strange starts to happen. Constance stops walking toward us and she frowns, looking around. I follow her gaze and see that the lights are flickering all over the house and a phantom breeze has kicked up. My heart nearly stalls when we start to hear water running, see it pouring down the stairs. I can hear them.

 _I can hear her children, crying upstairs._

Constance hears it, too. The spirit moves instantly to the bottom of the staircase, gazing upward. "You've come home to us Mommy," the voice of a child calls. I might be creeped out by dead kids but Constance looks horrified. Suddenly the children are at her side and the small, wet spirits hug their mother. Constance screams an awful, ungodly noise before the entire room is awash in bright light. The three of them become engulfed in flames before disappearing, leaving only a weird, dark puddle.

Instantly, the dresser falls backward and frees us. I take a deep breath, making sure the bitch didn't crack a rib, before stepping away from the car. Dean, wiping himself off, notes, "So, this is where she drowned her kids."

"That's why she said she could never go home," Sam says, obviously realizing what I did.

I nod and conclude, "She was too scared to face them."

"You found her weak spot," Dean says, slapping a hand down on my shoulder. "Nice work, Mack. You too, Sammy."

"I wish I could say the same to you," Sam retorts, frowning at his brother. "What were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face you freak?"

I can't help but laugh as Dean replies, "Hey, we saved your ass. I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car, I'll kill you." After the adrenaline and excitement of the last couple hours, that does me in. I can't help but let out a loud laugh again and, also again, Sam and Dean are laughing with me.

 **…** **30 Minutes Later…**

After Dean decided the car was fine, we left the stolen one in the yard and gotten on the road. I'd like to shower and sleep, but I realize that the guys want to trail their dad to the next step. He'd left them GPS coordinates in his journal, which Dean stole from the police before escaping on a fake 911 call that Sam made. While Sam gets to work mapping the coordinates from the front seat, I make a quick call back to Jim and let him know what's happening. He makes sure that I'm alright, congratulates me on a successful hunt, and asks that I text him with where we're going next.

Just as I hang up, Sam says, "Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Black Water Ridge, Colorado."

"Sounds charming," Dean notes.

"How far?" I ask, curious if I'll be getting my shower tonight.

Sam double checks his map and answers, "Six-hundred miles."

"If we haul ass, we can make it by morning," Dean says. I nod, knowing he's right and anxious to keep this going. I'm not about to be the one who slows us down and especially not for a shower.

Sam shifts a little in the passenger seat and just says, "Dean." I know what he's thinking right away and I know that Dean does, too.

"You're not going," Dean breathes, frustration obvious in his voice.

"The interview is in ten hours," Sam reminds us. "I gotta be there."

"Yeah," Dean says, cutting Sam short. "Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home." Sam doesn't say anymore and it's probably for the best since Dean has resigned to quit arguing the fact. Maybe he's decided that he and I can find their dad on our own.

Regardless, the hour-long ride back to Stanford is totally silent. I only mind for the first half hour and then my head starts to hurt. I keep quiet, closing my eyes to try to block out the pain as it continues to grow. I know that eventually, it'll be blinding. The last thing I want is for the guys to know about these headaches or to tell them the truth and make them wonder why it's happening right now. I'm certainly wondering that.

By the time Dean parks, I'm hurting pretty badly but managing to keep it from the guys. Maybe I'll be able to keep this under wraps for a little while longer after all. Sam looks back over the seat at me and smiles. He's got a smile so gorgeous that it almost makes the headache seem insignificant and even with the pain, it's easy to return it. "You keep an eye on my brother, alright?" he says playfully.

"You got it," I answer. "Good luck in the interview." I say that just to be nice. I'm still disappointed that he's leaving us, but I know Dean and I will be OK.

Sam looks at Dean and asks, "You'll call if you find him? Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"

"Yeah, alright," Dean answers. He's still got his serious face and gruff voice on, but I can tell he's a little sad as well. As Sam reaches for the door, Dean says, "You know…we made a helluva team back there." He looks back at me and nods before finally giving his brother a smile. Sam returns it and nods before leaving the car and shutting the door.

It's barely shut before I'm nailed, a pain surging forward from the back of my head into my eyes. I can't help a small groan, as the car pulls away. "You alright?" Dean asks, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah…headache," I answer. The pain doesn't pass, doesn't fade. I can't see straight but I hold on and manage to ask, "Are you OK?"

Dean takes a breath as he turns a corner. The pain only grows, pressing outwards toward the sides of my head like it's going to explode. "I guess he's gotta do what's right for him…but I don't get it at all."

I open my mouth to agree with him and am hit hard by another pain, knocking me forward off the bench seats. "Whoa, what the hell?" Dean asks, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look back at me.

 _Something isn't right._

"Dean," I breathe, getting back up. "Dean, something isn't right. You have to get back to Sam." My head only hurts like this when something is happening and it's always something bad. If we're this close to Sam, I'm certain that it's got something to do with him. Everything inside me is screaming that we have to get to Sam.

"How do you know?" Dean asks.

"Just go!" I shout at him, grabbing the sides of my head with my hands as it threatens to split me. Dean guns it, throwing me back into the seat. With my eyes close I feel us make a sharp turn and then another, so quickly that the tires squeal, and he slams on the breaks. I'm grateful he's taking me seriously as I start to get nauseous and I work my way out of the driver's side door that Dean left open. The fresh air washing over me feels good and I lean back, letting my eyes adjust. The horrible pain is starting to lessen dramatically so I wonder if Dean just busted into Sam's apartment for nothing at all.

Something catches my eye on the second level of the building we're parked out front of. It takes me a full second to register that it's fire. My heart slams into my chest and I start running into the building, just as Sam and Dean come running out. Sam is shouting, "Jess! No!" at the top of his lungs and fighting with Dean to get back inside. The window breaks loudly, flames shooting out. I change direction and duck behind the car. Sam and Dean get there, ducking beside me, just before the ground shakes with the explosion from Sam's apartment.

 **…**

"What the fuck?" I ask softly, standing beside Dean. Firefighters are working to put out the blaze at the apartment and a crowd has gathered. Uninjured, we left Sam at the Impala to see if anything was being said. We don't want an investigation, that's for sure. I'm so confused though, especially because of the anger I can see in both Sam and Dean now.

"I saw the blaze," Dean says, almost like he's talking to himself. "And I saw it once before, as a kid."

I blink, having an idea of what he's talking about from Jim. "You mean…you mean the fire with your mom?" Dean nods once and the gravity of the situation is not lost on me. The same thing that killed their mom and started John's career as a hunter – his near obsession – has killed Sam's girlfriend.

 _Where the fuck does Sam go from here?_

I turn back to go to Sam, standing at the trunk of Dean's car, and Dean joins me. I'm grateful the car is parked away from the crowd because Sam has the hidden compartment, full of weapons, well exposed. He's currently shoving shotgun shells filled with rock salt down into the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. He turns, looks at Dean, then me and then straight forward. "We got work to do.


	2. 1x2: Wendigo

1x2: Wendigo

When Sam suddenly shouts after two hours of silence – save for the sound of the road beneath the car, the rumble of the engine, and the wind whipping through the open windows – I nearly jump out of my skin. He'd been sound asleep which meant he was having another nightmare – nightmares he was getting almost every time he slept. Dean glances back at me through the rear-view and I know he's sharing his concern with me silently. "You okay?" Dean asks him.

Sam shifts around in his seat, either getting comfortable or getting uncomfortable because of being caught. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Another nightmare?" I ask. Sam's face soften a little and he gives me a nod. He's not mad that I asked. We've been together for about a week now and have been together almost constantly during that time. It's been a surprisingly easy adjustment for all of us to get along, even with Sam's obvious distress and all the questions hanging over us all the time. I like Sam and Dean, and I think they like me.

"You want to drive for awhile?" Dean asks Sam. I think Sam looks as surprised as I feel. He hasn't offered to let anyone else drive this entire week and I kind of assumed no one else drove "Baby".

"In your whole life, you never once asked me that," Sam notes, a smile playing on his lips that makes me smile.

Dean doesn't appreciate the question and answers, "Just thought you might want to. Never mind." I roll my eyes; Dean puts on his tough guy routine more often than he really needs to. He's a sweetheart, smart, and a great hunter. He just never, ever lets his guard down. Still, he's funny and we seem to get along so I don't push his buttons.

"Look, man," Sam begins. "You guys are worried about me. I get it and thank you, but I'm perfectly OK."

"Alright," Dean answers quickly with a nod.

 _Neither of us buys your crap, Sammy._

I keep that to myself. Sam looks around at the trees lining either side of this empty highway and asks, "Where are we?"

"Just outside Grand Junction," Dean answers him.

There's a pause before Sam says, "You know…maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so quickly."

"Sam," I begin gently. I get his pain but it was time to go. "We dug around there for a week, and came up with nothing."

"If you want to find the thing that killed Jessica, we've gotta find Dad first," Dean chimes in with a nod. "Dad disappearing, this thing showing up again after 20 years? It's no coincidence. He'll know what to do." A few nights ago, while Sam slept restlessly, Dean and I discussed this in depth. We knew Sam wouldn't be totally ready to move on with our search for John yet, but we also knew there was nothing for us in Stanford. The cops had decided Sam wasn't involved, and we needed to leave. We also agreed that something serious is happening. It's all too strange that these things are happening all at once - and I know that Dean is thinking of my weird headache the night of the fire, too. John is going to be the only tool we have in cracking any of this open.

"It's weird," Sam says, breaking the silence again. "These coordinates he left us – Black Water Ridge?"

"What about it?" Dean asks.

"There's nothing there," Sam answers. "It's just woods."

I nod and admit, "I was wondering about that, too. Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere."

 **…** **2 hours later, Ranger's Cabin…**

Black Water Ridge is just outside of Lost Creek, Colorado so that's where we'll make camp. Our first stop upon arrival is a Ranger's station so that we can get more of an idea about the area John is apparently sending us to. The station is little more than an oversized log cabin, with various maps and diagrams plastered to the walls. We've requested a hiking permit and are waiting for the Ranger to come in and sign it for us.

"So Black Water Ridge is pretty remote," Sam notes, checking out a map on the wall above the desk. I stand beside him, our arms pressed together so that I can get a good look until I shift away because I can't stand that. I'd rather just not see as well. Sam doesn't notice and he continues, "It's cut off by these canyons here. Rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place."

"Dude." We both turn to look at Dean who has a huge smile on his face and is pointing to a framed newspaper article. "Look at the size of this friggin' bear!"

"And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area," Sam finishes, shaking his head at Dean while I can't help a laugh at his enthusiasm.

I look back at the map and note, "It's no nature hike, that's for sure."

"You folks aren't planning to go out near Black Water Ridge, by any chance?" We turn to find that an older guy wearing a Ranger's uniform has come into the room.

 _Well, here's hoping he didn't hear us talking._

"Oh, no sir," Sam answers right away. "We're environmental study majors at U.C. Boulder."

I nod, because the Ranger is looking at Sam and I, and add, "We're just working on a paper."

The Ranger turns to look at Dean, apparently for his reasoning. Dean gives him a smile, raises a fist and says, "Recycle, man." I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"Bull," the Ranger says without missing a beat. "You're friends with that Hailey girl, right?"

 _Whatever you say._

"Yes," I answer.

"Yes, we are…Ranger Wilkinson," Dean chimes in, sounding convincingly caught and coming closer to read the Ranger's name tag.

Wilkinson scoffs at us, shakes his head, and walks around behind his desk. "Well, I'll tell you exactly what I told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Black Water until the 24th." He sits down in his wooden chair and makes a displeased face. "So it's not exactly a 'missing person's' now, is it? Tell that girl to quit worrying." He gives a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm sure her brother is just fine."

"We will," Sam assures him. I force a smile.

Dean presses in a light tone, "That Hailey girl is quite a pistol, huh?"

"That is putting it mildly," Wilkinson agrees, fighting off a smile. I'm not sure what Dean's angle is but I don't interrupt or stop him.

"Actually," he continues. "You know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backwoods permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date."

 _And his home address_.

We're going to talk to Hailey.

Wilkinson agrees and takes only a minute to give us a copy of the permit, seemingly happy that it might get Hailey off of his back. The Ranger is right; the brother isn't due home for a few days now. What's got this girl so worried? And is it the same thing that made John send us out here?

We thank the Ranger and head out, Dean folding the permit up and slipping it into his pocket. On our way through the small gravel parking lot to the Impala, Sam asks, "So, what are you cruising for a hook-up?"

I can't help but grimace and Dean frowns at him. "What do you mean?"

"The coordinates point to Black Water Ridge," Sam reminds us. "So what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. Why even talk to the girl?"

I scoff and shake my head at Sam, stopping at the Impala and turning back to him. "Well, I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it." Now Sam is just being crazy; he's trying to get us all killed.

"Since when are you all 'shoot first, ask questions later' anyway?" Dean asks, leaning his forearms on top of the car from the other side. I'm glad he realizes that Sam's little plan of rushing off to the backwoods makes no sense at all.

Sam, however, just gives us both kind of a dirty look. He steps around me to yank open the passenger door. "Since now." Without another word or grumpy face, he jumps into the backseat. I look over at Dean who just looks annoyed before we get into the car and head off to do things the right way.

 **…** **Later, Hailey Collin's house…**

"Hey, here's an idea," I begin as we climb out of the Impala. "Let's come up with something other than the 'girlfriend' cover."

Dean nods and tosses something at me that I catch against my chest. "I had your collection of IDs made. You're now an FBI agent, CDC, cop…and, of course, a park ranger."

"Thank you," I say genuinely, grateful that I get an actual part. No one wants to tolerate the girlfriend tagging along.

Tommy Collins – and thereby his sister Hailey – live in a cottage style house on a quiet road. The lawn has grown a little long and flowers grow unchecked, but it's not excessive and I suppose a lot of people would find it cute. Dean and I get to the door first and I stand beside him while he knocks. Sam is standing directly behind him and I can sense that he's not happy. I look back over my shoulder at find a frustrated look on his face. I wish I knew what to say.

The door is opened by a girl who appears to be in her early twenties. She's pretty even with a frown, and has long brown and slightly unruly hair. "You must be Hailey Collins?" I ask. She nods just a little, skeptical and cautious like she should be. "I'm Mackenzie, this is Dean and Sam. We're Rangers with the Park Service."

"Ranger Wilkinson sent us over," Dean says. "We wanted to ask you some questions about your brother, Tommy."

Hailey narrows her eyes, looking the three of us over. "Let me see some ID." Almost simultaneously, we produce our nearly-perfect fake Park Service IDs and extend them so that Hailey can see. I'm glad she bothered to ask; it shocks me how many people never do before they let us in. Hailey seems satisfied and steps aside, "Come on in." I enter first, the guys behind me. "That yours?" I hear Hailey ask. I turn and see that she's motioning to the Impala parked out front.

"Yeah," Dean answers, pride in his voice that makes me roll my eyes.

"Nice car." Hailey leads us into a living room that looks a little old fashioned. I wonder if there's parents are older. There's a teenaged boy sitting on the couch where Hailey motions for us to sit. Dean snags an armchair and I end up on the other end of the couch. Because he's giving the boy room, Sam has to sit a little closer to me than I'm comfortable with. I breathe through my noise and fight back against my rising anxiety.

 _He's just fucking sitting there_.

Sam doesn't notice my discomfort and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you something's wrong?"

Hailey is sitting in the other armchair, almost directly across from us. The teenaged boy shifts awkwardly. "He checks in everyday by cell," she tells us. "He e-mails photos, stupid little videos." Her tone of voice suggests she doesn't really think those videos are stupid at all. She swallows and says, "But we haven't heard from him in over three days."

"Maybe he just can't get cell reception?" Sam suggests gently.

"He's got a satellite phone, too," Hailey responds, shaking her head. Smart guy; he must go hiking pretty often.

Dean suggests, "Could it just be that he's having fun and forgot to check in?"

"He wouldn't do that," the boy at the other end of the couch asserts firmly. I look down to find that he's glaring at the floor instead of Dean, but he looks like he wants to smack him.

"Our parents are gone," Hailey begins, her expression suggesting that she's apologizing for her brother's outburst. "It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other."

"Can we see the pictures he sent you?" I ask, hoping to get back on track and get some evidence or at least an idea as to what we're dealing with. I'm still not convinced something happened to Tommy but I have a bad feeling, and I'm definitely not going out there without something.

Hailey motions for us to follow her into the dining room where she pulls out a laptop and opens it. After a few clicks, she pulls a video up. The first shot is of a young guy, smiling. He's sitting inside what must be a tent. "That's Tommy," she tells us, pointing to the screen.

"Hey Hailey," Tommy says through the video. "Day six. We're out near Black Water Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, OK? Talk to you tomorrow." The video ends. Sam leans over the dining room table and plays it again while Hailey walks away, clearly made emotional by the sight of her missing brother.

"We'll find your brother," Dean assures her. We don't know that, of course, but…sometimes people need to believe these things. "We're heading out to Black Water Ridge first thing."

Hailey turns toward us and crosses her arms. "Then maybe I'll see you out there," she states firmly. I raise my eyebrows and glance over at Dean who doesn't look like he thinks that's a good idea. "Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guide. I'm heading out in the morning and I'm gonna find Tommy myself."

I expect him to argue with her because we have no idea what's out there, but Dean just sighs and says, "I think I know how you feel."

 _Right in the feels, Dean Winchester_.

Hailey is only doing the same thing we are – rushing off to find a missing family member. If I was in her place, I'd do the same thing. There's no sense in scolding Hailey about the dangers when she's right.

"Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?" Sam asks, motioning toward the computer.

"Sure," she agrees. We thank Hailey for the information and say goodbye to her brother – Ben, she tells us – and then head out. We need to rent a hotel room and then we need to figure out what the hell might have happened to Tommy Collins. As of tomorrow morning, there are only going to be more civilians in those woods and I know that Sam and Dean feel the same way I do – we can't let anyone else get hurt.

 **…** **1 Hour Later, Motel…**

Another state, another dingy motel room. I honestly prefer sleeping in the Impala – at least I know what's been on those seats. OK, I can imagine the kind of things Dean has done in that extra large backseat, but I also know he cleans the car religiously. I shake my head off those thoughts and get back to the research I'm doing. Something is definitely up in Black Water Ridge.

"So, Black Water Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic – local campers mostly," I tell the guys. Dean is laying flat on his back on one of the mattresses and Sam is sitting on the foot of the bed where I'm sitting. He's on his own laptop, looking through the pictures and videos Hailey sent to us. Both of them look up at me. "But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found."

"Any before that?" Dean asks.

I nod. "Yeah. In 1982, eight different all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was grizzly attacks. Same thing back in 1959, and before that in 1936." I look up at the guys who are watching me intently and tell them, "It's every 23 years like clockwork."

Sam shift excitedly, turning he computer toward me and motioning for Dean to join us. He sits down heavily next to me, bouncing the mattress so that the laptop almost falls. Sam catches it but doesn't even seen to notice because he just says, "I may have the clincher." He moves around to sit on my other side and continues, "I downloaded Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out."

He begins the video, slowed down excessively and focused on the wall of the tent behind Tommy's head. It's not hard to see what he's so worked up about. Something is there; something is moving outside Tommy's tent. "Do it again," Dean says.

As the video plays again, Sam tells us, "That's three frames. It's a fraction of a second." I raise my eyebrows; in that fraction of a second, whatever that thing is crosses at least six feet of space.

I take a breath. "Whatever that thing is…it can really move."

"I told you something weird was going on," Dean notes, shaking his head slowly.

"Yeah, and I have one more thing," I say, grabbing my laptop and pulling it in front of us to grab the article I'd been looking at. "In '59, one camper survived the supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid, barely crawled out of the woods alive. And he's still alive."

"Get the name."

 **…** **1959 Victim's Home, at dusk…**

Mr. Roger Shaw was 7 when he family was attacked, apparently by a grizzly bear. He survived, moved in with grandparents, and no one ever saw his parents again. Now, Mr. Shaw lives just outside of Lost Creek and about half an hour from where Hailey and Ben are missing a family member now. We arrive and figure out pretty quickly that Mr. Shaw has swallowed the memories of the attack deep down – mostly with beer, judging by the cans cluttering the kitchen and coffee table – and isn't entirely excited about digging them up after nearly fifty years.

"Look, Rangers, I don't know why you're asking this," he tells us. Sam had just asked – again – if he'd be willing to tell us what happened that night. If I'm being honest, the guy is starting to annoy me. His house reeks of stale cigarette smoke and I can't breathe, so I'm not excited about him stonewalling us. "It's all public record and I was just a kid."

"Right, your parents were mauled by a grizzly?" Dean asks, skepticism evident in his voice. I can see that Mr. Shaw is surprised by it and I'm just glad someone else feels that we need to push. "That's what attacked them?"

"And the other people that year," I chime in. "Those were bear attacks, too." I cut across the room and sit down on the coffee table, directly in front of the recliner that Mr. Shaw is seated in. "What about the people that have gone missing this year? Same thing?"

Mr. Shaw swallows hard and I know we're getting through to him.

Sam's voice is calm when he says, "If we knew we were dealing with, then we might be able to stop it."

"I seriously doubt that," Mr. Shaw replies. I don't miss the fact that he glances specifically at me, wondering if I could take on a bear or even a puppy I'm sure. "Anyway…I don't see what difference it would make. You wouldn't believe me." He looks down and adds, "Nobody ever did."

"Mr. Shaw." I catch his attention and he looks at me with wet eyes. I think he's ready so I ask, "What did you see?"

After a pause, he shakes his head and says, "Nothing. It moved too fast. It hid too well." His voice is haunted by the memory and I lean forward, even more intrigued now. He looks at me, widening his eyes, and says, "I heard it, though. A roar…like no man or animal I ever heard."

Dean stands behind me and asks, "It came at night? Got inside your tent?"

"It got inside our cabin." My ears perk up even more. "I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door…it unlocked it." I feel my mouth go dry a bit. Mr. Shaw's gaze hardened and he asks, "Do you know of a bear that could do something like that?" He blinks slowly and says, "I didn't even wake up until I heard my parents screaming."

"It killed them?" Sam clarifies softly.

Mr. Shaw shakes his head and corrects, "Dragged them off into the night. Why it left me alive? I've been asking myself that ever since." He takes a deep breath and tells us, "It did leave me with this, though."

When Mr. Shaw pulls down the collar of his shirt, my stomach turns. The five scars running from his shoulder to his breast plate are so thick they make the ones on my back look minimal. It only takes a glance to realize that it was no bear that clawed him that way. It's easy to see as well that Mr. Shaw is exhausted by bringing all of this up, so we thank him several times for giving us his story and make our way out. Honestly, I think he's just happy we appeared to believe him and believe that it wasn't a bear who took his parents and harmed him.

"There is definitely something evil in those woods."

"Maybe it was some sort of demon," Dean suggests.

"Spirits and demons don't need to unlock doors," I remind them. "They just go through the walls."

"So it had to be something else," Sam agrees, opening the car door for me. "Something corporeal." He's right; this is something different.

"'Corporeal'?" Dean repeats, smiling. "Excuse me, professor."

"Shut up." I roll my eyes at them and get into the back seat. The guys climb in and Sam glances back at me. "So what do you think?"

I take a breath and shake my head, still unsure. "The claws, the speed that it moves. It could be a skin-walker, maybe a black dog."

"Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature," Dean says as he pulls the car away from the curb with a roar. "And it's _corporeal._ That means we can kill it."

 _Damn right._

"We cannot let that Hailey girl go out there," Sam says firmly. I frown at the back of his head and Dean scoffs.

"Oh yeah? What are we gonna do, tell her that she can't go into the woods because of a big, scary monster?" Dean asks as if it's ridiculous, and it kind of is.

Sam just throws his hands up and answers simply, "Yes."

"Her brother is missing, Sam," I remind him. I know Sam can understand this – he jumped on the road when his dad when missing. I also know that he's really hurting right now and needs some help opening his eyes these days. "She's not just gonna sit this out."

"Mack is right," Dean agrees. "We go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend."

"So finding Dad isn't enough?" Sam demands. "Now we have to babysit, too."

I feel my heart skip a beat. "She doesn't need a babysitter. She's trying to do the right thing by her family, and it doesn't matter to her that her life might be at risk. She's doing her best to be brave and just because you've been in a shit mood – even if it is understandable – doesn't mean you have the right to treat her like a child." I sit back and tell him, "You'd better be careful before another girl who doesn't need a babysitter kicks your ass." His mood is really starting to get to me, apparently.

There's a tense silence for a moment while I watch guilt and a softness wash over Sam's face. Finally, Dean starts laughing at his brother and I can't help a smile. With his own smile own, Sam looks back at me and cocks his head to the side apologetically. It'd be hard to stay mad at him. Besides, we have work to do.

 **…** **Next morning, Black Water Ridge…**

It's a forty minute drive out to Black Water Ridge, using Sam's memory of the map in the Ranger's office to find the launching spot for guides. We assume that Hailey and her guide will be starting from there and we need to catch them. When we pull up onto the gravel road, a massive pick-up truck is already there. Climbing out, our duffel bag full of every weapon and tool we can think of needing already in hand, I can see Hailey and Ben. It makes me nervous that we'll need to protect another person, but I understand why the younger brother came along. Hailey is talking to a middle-aged guy wearing flannel and toting a 12-guage shotgun who is obviously the guide she hired. I get a bad vibe from him at first glance.

Dean leads Sam and I toward the others and calls, "You guys got room for a few more?"

Hailey and Ben look shocked while their guide looks annoyed and pretty skeptical. "You want to come with us?"

"Who are these guys?" the guide demands, frowning deeply and allowing his eyes to linger on me.

"Apparently this is all the Park Service could muster up," Hailey explains, rolling her eyes.

The guide narrows his eyes. "You're Rangers?"

"That's right," I answer, already annoyed by him.

He gives me a creepy, leery once over and asks, "And you're going out in biker boots and jeans?"

"Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts," Dean quips, stepping in between me and the guide.

 _I'll have to kick Dean's ass later; I can stand up for myself._

"Oh you think this is funny?" the guide demands of Dean. "It's dangerous backcountry out there and her brother might be hurt."

"Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be," Dean responds.

Both men have puffed themselves up enough for my liking, so I insert myself between them now and put a hand on Dean's chest to warn him off. We don't need Hailey ditching us before we even get started because Dean started a fight.

"Look, we just want to help them find their brother," Sam says, putting on that earnest puppy-dog face that he's mastered. "That's all." It seems to satisfy the guide so that Hailey can make quick introductions, and apparently his name is Roy.

I don't miss that she calls me Kenzie even though I didn't introduce myself to her that way. People tend to do that; nickname me and act like we're friend when we barely know each other. I don't correct her, of course; Jim has made sure I understand that while I might be an introvert, it's an important skill to get people to trust me.

We get off into the woods shortly after that. While we may not look equipped, I feel confident that between the knives and guns on each of our persons and the weapons, salt, chalk, and lighter fluid in the duffel bag, we can handle just about anything that's in these woods. Whatever it is has an advantage though; this thick brush is not going to help us in trying to outmaneuver or sneak up on anything.

We've made it about half an hour before Dean asks, "Roy, you said you did a little hunting?" I can tell by the tone of his voice that he's still pissed off by the guide and looking to pick a fight. I glance up at Sam who is walking beside me and find him rolling his eyes at his brother.

 _Sometimes it's hard to believe these two are related at all._

"Yeah. More than a little," Roy answers confidently. Of course, he's just as big an ass as Dean can be – that's already clear.

"What kind of furry critters do you hunt?"

"Mostly buck," Roy replies, either not noticing or ignoring Dean's tone of voice. "Sometimes bear."

"Tell me," Dean begins. He picks up his pace suddenly and cuts in front of Roy so that he's leading the pack of us now. I fight the urge to throw a rock at him. "Did Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?"

Roy moves quickly, grabbing Dean's upper arm out of nowhere and stopping him dead in his tracks. Everyone freezes and I pray silently that Dean can control himself. "What are you doing, Roy?" Dean asks him, his body and voice tense.

Our guide doesn't answer and keep his hold on Dean's arm, but reaches into the brush and snaps a branch off a small bush near his leg. He jabs the stick at the ground directly in front of Dean – inches from his foot – and sets of a huge, metal trap that snaps the stick right in half and makes a loud snapping sound. "You should watch your step, Ranger," Roy tells Dean firmly before releasing him and again taking the lead.

I roll my eyes and keep going, Sam and I splitting to walk around Dean who hasn't moved yet. "It's a bear trap," he mumbles from behind us, as if we weren't sure or didn't see what happened.

"Hey!" I hear Hailey snap. I turn to find that she's standing right in front of Dean, but sideways so that she's looking back and forth between him and us. She looks pissed. "You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers so who the hell are you?"

Dean takes a slow breath and looks up at Sam and I. We don't have much choice from here. Sam turns to keep us close to Roy and Ben, and when I turn to follow him, I hear Dean and Hailey keep walking behind me. "Sam and I are brothers, and Mackenzie is a friend," he tells her. "We're looking for our father, and he might be here. We don't know, but we figured that we're in the same boat and could help each other."

"Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?" Hailey asks. She's got a point; she likely would have felt bad for us and brought us along without question.

"I'm telling you now," Dean notes as if it's obvious. "Besides…it's probably the most honest I've been with a woman. Ever." His adorable honesty with this girl makes me smile, but something tells me that he's not including me in that group of women he hasn't been honest with. Dean told Sam back in Jericho that he didn't have any attraction to me, and I can tell that's not the case with Hailey because of the different way he treats her.

It's fine with me because the last thing I need is Dean ever trying to protect me again.

"And what do you mean I don't have provisions?" Dean demands. "Mack, will you tell her I came well prepared."

I laugh and call back to them, "He's got a giant bag of peanut M&M's in his pocket." Hailey laughs, but I hope she knows I'm serious. Granted, I only really brought beef jerky and water, but at least I can stay hydrated and get some protein. Dean is just a child.

 _That whole lack of attraction is a mutual thing_.

 **…** **1 Hour Later…**

"This is it," Roy announces, stopping just past a few redwoods. "Black Water Ridge."

I don't admit that I'm happy we're finally here. The hike wasn't easy and I'm not used to hiking anyway. "What coordinates are we at?" Dean asks, approaching Roy who is carrying a GPS tracker. After a look at the screen, Dean looks up at Sam and then me before giving us a nod. We're exactly where John wanted us to go. Ground Zero.

"Do you hear that?" Sam asks softly, standing behind me. I turn around to face him and listen, hard.

"Yeah," I answer, getting his point quickly. "Not even crickets."

"I'm gonna go look around," Roy announces, heading off into the woods away from us.

"You shouldn't go off by yourself," I call out to him.

Roy turns and gives me a sarcastic, less than polite smile. "That's sweet. Don't worry about me." He turns and quickly disappears into the thick brush, his feet crushing leaves and twigs serving as the only noise.

"Alright, everyone else is staying together," Dean asserts, looking at Hailey and Ben specifically. Hopefully they don't get any cocky ideas like Roy. Although something about Ben tells me he's never been hiking in his life; the kid wearing skinny jeans and a Sum 41 t-shirt couldn't look more out of place – even compared to our biker boots and jeans.

He's been gone less than thirty seconds when Roy shouts, "Hailey! Over here!" I break out running, getting in front of Hailey and Ben just in case and certain that Sam and Dean will make sure everyone follows. Roy is standing in the middle of what used to be a campsite. Everything is in total disarray, the tents torn to shreds and blood…blood everywhere.

 _He didn't have to let Hailey and Ben see this_.

"Oh my God," I hear Hailey breathe.

She looks pale but Ben places his hand on her shoulder and says, "He could still be alive."

"It looks like a grizzly," Roy murmurs. I want to kick him.

"Tommy!" Hailey shouts. Ben joins in and together they shout, "Tommy! Tommy!" dropping their

Simultaneously, Sam and I quickly shush them but Hailey frowns and asks, "Why? He could be out there."

"Something else might still be out there, too," I tell her. This is getting serious. Whatever took Tommy and the other campus was not playing games. I saw the body count from the last cycle, and I'm not about to become a statistic or let anyone else here end up with the monster in this woods.

"Hey," Dean says softly from the edge of the old campsite. He motions to Sam and I, and when we join him, he points to the ground. The underbrush is flattened in several lines, too straight to be natural.

"The bodies were dragged from the campsite," Sam murmurs.

Dean nods and goes forward a couple feet, motioning. "But here, the tracks just vanish. It's weird." Where he's pointing, the tracks and drag marks are totally gone.

"I'll tell you what; it's no skin-walker or black dog," I note, smears of blood on the tree trunks catching my eye. Just as I approach to examine, a scream pierces the silence. It's not far away and it's someone who needs serious help, judging by the scream.

I move as quickly as I can, easily breaking past Sam in his longer stride and pulling the .45 out from the waistband of my jeans. Within about twenty feet, I realize that there's nothing there. The others arrive behind me, stopping just as quickly as I did. "It sounded like it was coming from here, didn't it?" Hailey asks.

"Shit," Dean curses. They've realized it, too; we've been played.

"Everybody back to camp!" Sam orders, already moving. I don't move as quickly this time, jogging to keep pace with the pack and keeping my gun out. We arrive back in the clearing that was the campsite and find that everything – everything – is gone. There's nothing left…except for the duffel bag still strapped to Sam's back.

"Our packs!" Hailey shouts, spinning in a circle with a look of despair on her faith. I want to tell her she has much bigger problems but I can't deal with that right now. My heart is pounding, my adrenaline racing, my eyes flying everywhere to catch a glimpse of anything at all.

"So much for my GPS and my satellite phone," Roy grumbles.

 _Yeah, that's our biggest problem right now._

Ben comes up to my side and asks, "What the hell is going on?" Something strikes me, like an internal bolt of lightning or that proverbial light bulb. I know what's out there and the idea makes me simply nauseous. I slip the weapon back into my jeans.

"It's smart," Dean answers Ben. "It wants to cut us off so we can't call out for help."

"You mean someone," Roy begins, looking at Dean like he's totally lost his mind or grown another head. "Some… _nut job_ out there just stole all our gear."

There's no time for this.

I turn to Sam and Dean and tell them, "I need to speak with you in private. Now." The guys exchange a quick glance but nod and follow me just off camp, far enough away for privacy. "You have your dad's journal, right? Let me see it."

Sam pulls it out from an inside pocket of his jacket and hands it over. I quickly flip through, knowing exactly what I'm looking for because I've seen these pages before – some of them, anyway – when John let me play with his journal as a kid. Jim's journal was similar and had this page…the page that I need. I can't help a smile when I find it.

"Check this out," I say, turning the journal to face toward the guys and pushing it back into Sam's hands.

"Oh, come on," Dean scoffs.

Sam shakes his head and says, "Wendigos are in the woods of Minnesota or northern Michigan. I never heard of one this far west."

"Think about it," I urge them. "The claws? The way it can mimic a human voice? And it might not be their usual area, but it's the perfect terrain for one."

I watch them each look through the page, scribbled on in John's absurd crazy-person-esque handwriting. I can see the moment it hits them both. Sam slaps the journal shut and curses under his breath. "Great."

"Well, this is useless," Dean notes, waving his pistol around.

"Guys we have to get these people to safety." With no hesitation or argument on that point, we move back toward the others who are still circling camp as if their stuff is going to pop back into existence.

"Alright listen up," Dean calls. "It's time to go."

"Things have gotten more complicated," Sam says as a way of explanation. That's putting it mildly. My chest is starting to hurt from the way my heart is pounding from adrenaline and, I'm not afraid to admit it, fear. I live in a land where Wendigos hunt. I've seen them and I've seen what they're capable of. I'm not about to end up a victim or let it happen to Sam, Dean, or anyone else.

"What?" Hailey demands.

Roy just laughs and waves his shotgun at us. "Whatever is out there, I think I can handle it."

My hold my temper snaps and I snap, "If you shoot at this thing, you're just going to make it mad. We have to leave, now."

"One," Roy begins, actually holding up a finger as if he's talking to a child. If that wasn't enough to piss me off completely, he's also doing that slow walk toward me that men do when they're attempting to intimidate a woman. The gun in my jeans suddenly feels heavier and I'm more aware of it as the hairs on the back of my neck stand. "You're talking nonsense. "Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders."

Sam is there, pressing a hand into Roy's shoulder and saying, "Relax," as a warning.

"We never should have let you come out here in the first place," I tell Roy firmly, refusing to let him think he's won or that Sam needs to protect me. "I'm trying to protect you."

"You, protect me?" Roy laughs obnoxiously. "Girl, I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you goodnight."

"Hey! Watch it," Dean growls from my other side, coming to my defense.

I'm not done with Roy. "It's a damn near perfect hunter," I tell him. "It's smarter than you. And it's going to hunt you down and eat you alive, unless we get your stupid, sorry ass out of here."

"You know you're crazy right?" Roy shouts, his temper making an appearance now, too.

"Yeah? You ever hunt – "

"Easy," Sam says, slipping an arm around my waist and using it along with his height to actually lift my feet off the ground and pull me away, turning me so that I'm no longer looking at Roy. If I didn't know Sam was right I'd probably punch him for touching me – touching so much of me.

"Stop! Stop it!" Hailey yells. "Everybody just stop." Sam releases me and I put my hands up, letting him know I'm done. Hailey continues, "Look, Tommy might be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him."

I can tell by the look on her face that we'll have to drag the girl out of here, screaming and bloody if we want her to go. I take a deep breath and realize that we have no choice but to fight this thing.

"It's getting late," Dean breathes. "This thing is good hunter during the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it – not in the dark."

 _Probably not at all_.

"We need to settle in and protect ourselves."

Hailey looks around, a defeated expression on her face, and she asks, "How?"

 **…** **1 Hour Later, Nightfall…**

I feel a little more secure with a fire roaring in the campsite. I feel much more comfortable with the Anasazi symbols completed, Dean finished up when Hailey asks, "One more time. That's an…"

"Anasazi symbol," Dean answers. "It's for protection. The Windego can't cross it."

Roy makes a scoffing sound and laughs. I consider throwing something at him but restrain myself.

"Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy," Dean tells him playfully, standing up after completing the symbol and wiping his hands off on his jeans. At least Roy is keeping his distance, leaning against a tree just at the edge of the symbol guarding camp with his back to all of us.

Roy isn't my problem right now. I'm noticing that Sam has barely said a word in the last hour and really hasn't moved much from his seat on the ground beside me. He's got a strange look on his face and I'm growing concerned that he's not focused. We cannot afford anyone off their game. Dean sits down on my other side, both of them giving me less room than I'm used to but not making me uncomfortable, and keeping us all several feet from where Hailey and Ben stare into the fire.

"So," Dean says, looking down at me. "You're quite the little powder keg aren't ya?"

"You could say that," I admit, raising my eyebrows. It's probably an understatement, really. It's something Jim has always encouraged me to pray on. The big problem with that is my trouble with prayer. And right now, my temper and my spiritual issues don't make the list of our problems. I nudge Dean with my elbow and motion toward Sam.

Dean pauses for just a moment before reaching behind me to pat Sam's shoulder. He asks, softly, "You wanna tell me what's going on in the freaky head of yours?"

"Dean," Sam begins.

"No, you're not fine," Dean cuts him off firmly. "You've barely said a thing, and it took you way too long to get out your gun when we were chasing that scream."

"It wouldn't have helped anyway," Sam notes.

Dean gives him a look and says, "You know that's not the point. This isn't like you. I get to be the hot brooding one, remember?"

"None of those things are true," I joke, earning a shot to the ribs from Dean. I'm trying to break the tension but I know something is going on.

Sam takes a breath and then says simply, "Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know. He would have left us a message, a sign, right?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," Dean agrees.

"To tell you the truth, I don't think your dad has ever been to Lost Creek," I chime in. John Winchester saw the signs, heard about the disappearances, and left the coordinates. I don't think he would have sent us out here if he'd come and figured out it was a Wendigo; these things are serious. I'm already dreading the phone call to Jim about what we fought. That's assuming we make it out alive, of course.

"Then let's get these people back to town," Sam says in a urgent whisper, leaning over more. "Let's hit the road, and go find Dad. I mean, why are we even still here."

I have about a thousand answers to that, but Dean quickly says, "This." He reaches behind me into the duffel bag and emerges holding John's leather-bound, beat to hell journal. "This is Dad's single most valuable possession, and he meant to pass it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off." Dean shrugs and continues, "You know – saving people, hunting things; the family business." I can't help a smile at the idea and the way Dean sounds excited by it.

"That makes no sense," Sam retorts. "Why doesn't he just call us? Why doesn't he just tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?"

"I don't know," Dean admits honestly. "But the way I see it, Dad has given us a job to do. And me and Mack intend to do it." I don't mind that he included me on an assumption. I'm in.

Sam, however, shakes his head and sends his light brown hair flopping onto his forehead. "Dean, no. I gotta find dad; I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about." His voice cracks with the pain of the admission and on instinct, I reach out and rest my hand on his knee. I hope the move is comforting since I wouldn't really know, but Sam takes a breath and seems to calm just a bit at my touch.

"Okay, alright," Dean assures him. "We'll find them. I promise."

"Sam, listen," I begin. He looks down at me, eyes a honey color in the flickering light of the fire. His expression is earnest and it makes me feel like I'm not just an outsider inserting myself in their family business – both literally and figuratively. My responsibility is to be honest. "This search could take awhile. You've got to prepare yourself. All this anger…you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It'll eat you up."

 _I would know_.

"She's right," Dean agrees. "You've got be patient, man."

"How do you guys do it?" Sam asks us, frowning sadly and shaking his head down at the ground. "How does Dad do it?"

"Well, for one thing…them." I motion toward Hailey and Ben. The older sister has an arm around her brother while he rests on her shoulder. "The way I see it, our families are so screwed to hell…maybe we can help some others who have a chance." I catch a small smile on Sam's face.

"And I'll tell you what else helps," Dean chimes in. "Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can."

Before I even have a chance to laugh, another scream breaks out. "Help me!" the voice calls. "Please!" Everyone jumps to their feet, Hailey and Ben instinctively moving closer to us. Roy pumps his shotgun and backs closer the middle of the symbol, but only by a little.

"It's trying to draw us out," I remind the others. "Just stay calm."

"And stay put," Dean says firmly.

Roy scoffs again. "Inside the magic circle?"

"Help! Help me!" I can tell by the look on Hailey's face that she recognizes the voice; the thing is mimicking her brother. Something moves to our left, brushing through the brush with an oddly high=pitched growl. Suddenly – and much faster than should have been possible – the same noise emits from our right side…then behind us, sending all of us spinning like we'd actually be able to see it.

"Okay, that's no grizzly," Roy finally allows.

"It's okay, we'll be alright," Sam says, his voice miraculously calm. I don't miss his hand on my shoulder, holding me in front of him.

Another movement from our right, another growl, and Roy shouts, "It's here!" Before we have a chance to stop him, Roy fires his shotgun directly into the night. "I hit it!" He's running suddenly, right over the edge of the symbol without breaking it and into the woods.

"Roy, no!" I shout.

"Roy!" Sam calls. "Stay with them," he tells me firmly. I don't like the idea of being left behind while Sam and Dean run after Roy who most likely has a Wendigo after him. Still, I know Hailey and Ben don't want to be left alone right now with that thing out there. I stay put, hearing Sam and Dean yell for Roy a few times, nearby.

They return before I needed to go after them, without Roy. Hailey sniffs with tears and embraces her brother. I'm not about to cry over the jerk, but I'm frustrated that we failed to protect everyone in the group. Dean quickly flashes his palm to me, covered in blood, and I know that Roy is definitely gone.

We just have to make sure he's the only victim of our camping trip.

 **…** **Dawn…**

We've made it the night with very little conversation and no further action. The Wendigo must be satisfied with his kill for the evening. Hailey and Ben doze off a few times, but the three of us remain vigilant. Sam seems a bit lighter despite the circumstances.

In the morning, with the fire dying and no one stopping it because it's of no use to us now, we start gathering supplies. I sit with Sam and Dean on the opposite side of the fire, the duffel bag between us so that we can build our makeshift arsenal. Hailey breaks the silence, sitting on a log with her brother, when she says, "These types of things. They aren't supposed to be real."

"I wish I could tell you different," Dean says. It's not like we can sugarcoat things after what they saw last night. They're going to have more questions and at this point, the more they know the better off they are in protecting themselves.

"How do we know it's not out there watching us?" Ben asks.

Sam looks up at them and answers honestly, "We don't. But we're safe for now." All us sit still inside the Anastazi symbol that will keep the creature out and away from us until we want to find it.

"How do you guys know about this stuff?" Now that's a good question and it makes me smile a little.

"It kind of runs in our families," Dean says, also smiling.

"We've got half a chance to kill it in the daylight," Sam explains. "And we're pretty set on killing the evil son of a bitch." I don't miss that he uses the same phrase Dean did last night, and neither does Dean; he looks downright proud

"We're in," Ben says firmly. I look over at see that his face is hardened along with his resolve. It's good; he's going to need to be that brave.

"Tell us about this thing," Hailey says cautiously, like she doesn't really want to know, but knows that she needs to.

"Wendigo is a Cree Indian word," Sam explains. "It means 'evil that devours' and they're hundred of years old."

I nod and continue, "Each one was once a man; sometimes an Indian or other time a frontier man, a minor, or a hunter."

"How does a man turn into one of those…things?" Hailey asks, not disguising the disgust in her voice. Even I can admit it's a creepy thought for humans. We have the potential to become so many horrible things under the right circumstances.

"Well, it's always the same," Dean tells them. "During some harsh winter, a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. He becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp."

"Like the Donner party," Ben interjects.

Dean looks at him with a small smile, surprised and apparently pleased that the kid knows some pop culture creepy history. "Exactly."

I roll my eyes and get back to the point. "Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality."

"If you eat enough of it over the years, you become this less-than-human thing," Sam explains. "And you're always hungry for it." A silence falls over the camp while Hailey and Ben are thinking on that.

Finally, she asks, "So…if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive."

I raise my eyebrows and shake my head a little. She doesn't want to know the answer and I don't want to be the one to tell her. Dean warns her. "You're not gonna like it."

"Tell me," she pushes.

Dean puts down everything in his hands and gives Hailey and Ben his full attention. "More than anything, a Wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, even decades. When it's awake…it keeps its victims alive. It stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants."

"If your brother is alive," Sam continues. "It's him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. And we gotta track it back there."

"And then how do we stop it?" Ben asks.

"Well, guns are useless and so are knives," Dean admits.

"Basically," I say, holding up our little project. We've created homemade Molotov cocktails and I wish I could say this is the first time I've done this. "We gotta torch the sucker."

We get moving, keeping the duffel bag with us and leaving the safety of the Anasazi symbol. It makes the most sense to track the thing off in the direction where it had dragged the bodies of Tommy and his friends, so we start there. The blood smear I noticed yesterday is only the start; trees every few meters are smeared or clawed. We've only been going for about ten minutes when Sam stops suddenly, a frown marring his handsome face. "What is it?" Dean asks, the rest of the group coming to a stop as well.

"I'm thinking that these claw marks," he begins, thoughtfully touching deep scars in a tree trunk. "So clear and distinct. They're almost too easy to follow."

I tense, heart rate accelerating. Sam thinks we've been lured into a trap.

 _Jim will kill me if I go out in a way this damn stupid._

I try not to panic and focus instead. It's not fear that has me worked up, though. Mostly it's the totally obvious failure if this creature has played us, if it grabs us now when it's our fault. I can't go down this way. I'm going to kill this thing and prove to it that humans are still the top of the food chain, still the ultimate hunters.

It's Hailey's scream that breaks the contemplative silence of the moment. While the hunters have been considering our fate, the thing was above us in the trees. And it's delivered the gift, it's reason for bringing us away from camp.

Roy. Hanging from his ankles, body beaten and bloody and nearly shredded, his head at a totally unnatural angle.

Dean grabs Hailey to silence her and she throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his check. He gives her back a comforting rub while Sam leans toward the body for a look and notes, "His neck's broken." I guess if the thing was going to murder him, that was really the humane way to do it. I seriously doubt the Wendigo considered that, though.

"Okay, if it keeps its victim's alive, why would it kill Roy?" Ben demands, panic seeping through in his voice now.

"Because Roy shot at it," I answer. "It's pissed."

As if it understood me, the unnatural growl we heard last night emits from the brush around us. And it's close.

"Run!" Dean shouts, grabbing Hailey's hand and moving with her. Everyone starts moving back toward camp, moving as fast as they can through the thick brush and I keep pace with Sam, bringing up the rear. Could I outrun them all back to camp and into the Anasazi symbol? Yes, easily. I might not be the strongest hunter in this group or others, but I'd bet I'm the fastest. I was also raised by a good man and I know how disappointed he'd be if I didn't protect other people. So I keep pace.

Behind us, another growl. "Go, go, go!" Sam shouts. Ben looks back to see what's happening and loses his footing. He trips and I want to smack him for not just running straight as he falls. It's not an option to leave him, so Sam and I stop and grab his arms to try and help him up. "We got you, we got you," Sam assures the kid who scrambles back to his feet. He gets up and we keep going, running hard back to camp.

Back to the completely empty camp.

They aren't here.

Dean and Hailey aren't here. They're gone, and that thing has them.

"Shit!" I shout, kicking at the ground where the Anasazi symbol was broken. It must have been stepped on when they were running back here, and it let the thing come right in and grab both of them.

"Dean!" Sam shouts. It's useless; if they answered now, it'd just be that thing mimicking them. "Hailey!"

"Guys!" Ben shouts, suddenly dropping to his knees. "They went this way." He turns and shows us two small, round circular objects, one blue and one yellow.

Peanut M&Ms.

 **…**

The entrance to the abandoned mine is really well hidden, on the backside of a rock formation and nearly overgrown. It's boarded over with 2x4s, but the wooden is broken more than enough to allow entrance. Caution signs cover the area, most of them half covered in moss.

We never would have found this if Dean hadn't left us a trail.

The Wendigo definitely found himself a secure little home, and when we enter it now we do so wielding the Molotov cocktails and lighters. As soon as we find Hailey and Dean, that thing burns. Even if it's not here, I plan on making it's lair light up like the forth of July.

The trails into the mine are pitch black once you get more than a couple feet from the entrance. Ben is holding the flashlight, the beam of light tremoring like the hand of its' controller. He keeps steady between us and we move cautiously, not wanting to run into the thing by surprise. It's too good a hunter and without that element, we're completely screwed.

The end of the tunnel leads into an open, circular space. There's a little light streaming in from cracks in the wood above us. We've found it's cave. There, not even well-hidden because the Wendigo had assumed it would never be found, are Dean and Hailey. Their arms are extended up over their heads, hanging from ropes on the ceiling. "Hailey!" Ben breathes, running toward her and grabbing her face. "Wake up, wake up."

Sam goes to Dean, taking a knife and starting on the rope at his wrists. I remove my own knife from my jeans and go to help Hailey, leaning as far up on my toes as I can to cut through the rope. Ben catches his sister when it releases but she's conscious and able enough to stand on her own. She sobs once, a relieved kind of sound, and hugs her brother. I hear Dean cough and turn, finding him leaning against the wall but alive and just fine.

"Where is it?" I ask him.

"Gone, for now," Dean answers. Not for long.

"Tommy," Hailey whispers from beside me. "Tommy!" I turn and follow their gaze. There's a third person hanging here, and these two recognize their brother. Hailey and Ben rush to him, talking to him softly and making promises of getting him home while they untie his ropes. I don't approach because they need this faux-reunion. We have to cut it short, though; we need to get out of here.

Ben and Hailey support Tommy on their shoulders as we walk back in the direction we came from, moving even slower this time but because Tommy is obviously weak and injured. He'll make it, though. The Wendigo needed to save him and wouldn't have injured him terminally – yet. A shadow crosses our path from around a corner, coming in from the entrance. Everyone freezes and I hold my breath, sending up a prayer to make us invisible and pushing as closely against the wall as I possibly can as Dean turns off the flashlight.

It's hard to see clearly, but it'd be impossible not to look when the thing walks by. It move upright, like a human with it's arms swinging in a disturbingly normal stride. It's body is wrong, though; the limbs and torso are too long, sinewy. The claws are visible even from here, long and menacing. I think there's hair on it's head, but more like Gollum has hair than a human does. It takes long strides toward the cave and I know that when it finds out that it's dinner is gone, it's going to really freak.

"You guys thinking what I'm thinking?" I ask Dean and Sam.

"I think so, yeah," Dean answers with a firm now. He looks at Sam and asks, "Can you get them outta here?"

"Yeah, but what are you gonna do?" he asks, frowning and looking back and forth from his brother to me.

Without answering his question explicitly, I gather a cocktail in my left arm and hold the lighter with my right. As Dean and I move, crouched over in hopes we can stay hidden until we're ready, I hear Sam telling the others to move and their footsteps fading away. I kneel against the opposite wall, outside the cave. Dean takes a deep breath and then nods – to me and to himself, I think, before stepping out into the open. He's just a few feet from me. My heart is racing because we actually have a shot to it kill but I realize that I also have a pretty good shot of killing Dean. I'll need him to tell me the perfect moment.

"It's chow time, you freaky bastard!" Dean shouts. Jesus Christ. We didn't need to make it madder. Too late now though because Dean continues, "Yeah, that's right. Bring it on, baby. I taste good."

That might be funny if I didn't hear the growling start, much closer than I want it to be. Dean takes a slow step backward and then another, still taunting it. "You want some white meat, bitch?" he asks it.

Maybe I should try to burn Dean for being stupid – at least a little burn. I try to block out his craziness and focus, waiting for the following footsteps to get close enough. I can hear it breathing and flick the lighter on, prepared but waiting. "Mack, now!" Dean screams suddenly. He throws himself to the ground and I jump up.

I watch the sight of even a small flame register on the disfigured, horrible face in front of me. That expression is fear and it makes me just so damn happy. I light the paper sticking out of the bottle, instantly igniting it. I have two second before the bottle explodes but I don't need it. The monster starts to run backward and I throw it, landing directly beside him. At the last possible second I remember to move my own dumb ass out of the way and spin just as the blast erupts, shaking the ground. I'm laying face to face with Dean and while he watches the thing burn behind me, emitting God awful screams and an even worse smell, but I've suddenly lost the urge to watch it die.

Maybe it's that odor…burning human flesh.

Dean looks back down at me and flashes a smile. "Not bad, huh?"

 **…** **2 Hours Later…**

Our first piece of business back at the truck and car was to call for an ambulance. Tommy is in rough shape and I feel a sense of relief when I watch him get loaded into the ambulance. Now I know for sure he'll be alright. Now I can breathe.

I head back to the Impala from the ambulance, where Sam and Dean are waiting with Hailey. I pass Ben, giving his statement to a cop, and hear him, say, "That's when it circled the campsite. I mean, this grizzly must have been eight hundred, nine hundred pounds." It didn't take much to convince the siblings that they needed to stick with this bear story. I guess they don't want to end up in a nuthouse. Or, they're going to try to forget what they've seen.

 _Someone should tell them that that's impossible_.

"So, I really don't know how to thank you," Hailey is saying to Dean as I approach. I assume they're having a moment since she isn't thanking the rest of us who were there, but I don't care. I'm not here for thanks or for moments. I lean against the hood next to Sam, resting my feet on the grill even though I know it'll piss Dean off if he sees me. "Must you cheapen the moment?" Hailey teases Dean, pushing him playfully.

"You riding with your brother?" he asks.

"Yeah."

Ben approaches and calls Hailey. "Let's go." He looks over to Sam and I and gives us a smile – the first smile I've ever seen from him – and waves. I nod as Sam waves back, both of us returning his smile.

"I hope you find your father," Hailey calls, walking backward toward the ambulance. She gives one more smile to Dean before turning and walking off.

"Is it always like this with him?" I ask Sam.

He laugh and answers, "God help us…yes." I laugh in response and we both stand as Dean finally turns around.

"Man, I hate camping," he admits.

"Me, too," Sam agrees. I love camping…but not like this.

"Hey Sammy," Dean says, pausing before opening the driver's side door. "You know we're gonna find Dad, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Sam actually sounds believable. Maybe saving someone's life turned him around after all. He flashes a smile and starts toward Dean as he says, "But in the meantime, I'm driving." Dean and I laugh but the younger brother is given the keys. As soon as Sam sits in the driver's seat, Dean's green eyes flash toward me.

I know what he wants immediately and we shout simultaneously, "Shotgun!" I turn and run for the passenger side, closer and faster than Dean. I yank it open and throw myself in, sliding halfway across the bench toward Sam who is laughing at us. Dean doesn't miss a beat, folding down the seat but only so that he can playfully crush me with it while climbing into the back. "I'm only doing this because I want to take a nap," he informs us indignantly as Sam starts the engine.

Sam hits the gas and tells him, "You just shut your cakehole."


	3. 1x3: Below the Surface

1x3: Below the Surface

I don't know why I let Dean talk me into coming to a bar. It's a miracle I even got in, nonetheless served with the fake ID he produced from thin air. Granted, the waitress didn't really even look for it since she was too busy checking out my dates for the evening. And, fine, the beer tastes really good tonight. Still…I hate bars.

It doesn't help much that Sam has been completely unpleasant for all day. We've been driving almost non stop, checking in with Jim and Caleb and a couple other friends to see if anyone had tabs on John. No one has anything and it doesn't feel like we're getting closer. Sam is on the laptop, searching for a new case. I'm praying he finds something for us to kill while we're out here. It'll keep me focused, Dean happy, and hopefully get Sam to quit pouting.

The waitress appears suddenly at our table for about the tenth time in a hour. She can't keep her eyes off of Dean who so obviously does not mind the attention. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks, the suggestion far less than subtle.

Though she asked Dean, Sam interjects and answers, "Just the check, please."

"OK," she answers, obviously a little surprised. She lays the paper down on the table and practically stomps off. I fight the urge to laugh and sip my beer while Dean makes a face at Sam.

"Sammy, we are allowed to have a little fun now and then," Dean tells his brother. He motions toward the waitress with his beer bottle and notes, " _That_ is fun."

"You're a pig," I remind him, putting on my best smile.

Dean laughs but doesn't have time to retort before Sam says, "Hey, I think I have something." Sam slides his bar stool closer to mine and angles the computer so Dean can see to. I try to ignore the way Sam smells and the warmth of his leg against mine – things that are getting harder to ignore – as he starts to explain the story.

"Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin," he begins. "A girl named Sophie Carlton went swimming in the lake last week, never came back out. Authorities dragged the water and didn't find a thing. She's the third person to disappear in that lake this year; none of the other bodies were found." He takes a sip of his beer while Dean and I scan the story and tell us, "They had a funeral last week."

I frown. "A funeral?"

"Yeah, they buried an empty coffin," Sam answers. "For…closure or something."

"That's just weird," I admit, shaking my head. "I don't see how an empty coffin gives you closure when someone disappears."

"You're right," Sam agrees. "People don't just disappear. Other people stop looking for them." He puts his beer bottle down on the table a little too hard for it to be normal, that pissed off look that makes him look about a million times hotter returning to his face.

This time, Dean returns the expression and slams his own bottle down at all.

 _Great, they're going to argue again_. At least we're doing something different for once.

"You got something you wanna say?" Dean asks his brother.

Sam nods and answers, "The trail for Dad. It's getting colder everyday."

"What are we supposed to do, Sam?" I ask him, frustrated at what it's clear he's implying. I left a comfy situation behind to hunt with them and have put my life in danger now. I want to find John. We all do.

"Something," Sam urges. "Anything."

"I'm getting really sick of this attitude," Dean tells him firmly. I raise my eyebrows; it's the first time Dean has been honest about that. He's spent the last week mostly trying to placate him. "You don't think I wanna find Dad just as much as you do?"

"That's not what I said – "

Dean interrupts him and continues, "I'm the one that's been with him every single day for the past two years, while you were off at college going to pep rallies and frat parties. We will find Dad, but we're gonna kill every evil thing between here and there. Got it?"

"Fine."

Yeah, obviously not fine. As much as I'm not looking forward to being back in the car with them, I ask, "How far is Lake Manitoc?"

We decide the lake is too far of a drive for tonight, and we've all had a couple of drinks so we rent a hotel room nearby and make our way there. We've been inside for five minutes, and have just finished a round of rock paper scissors to determine that Sam will be sleeping on the couch, when Dean announces that he has the waitresses phone number and is headed back to the bar to meet up with her. I'm sure it's just as much about getting away from Sam as it is getting to the waitress.

I throw myself down onto my stomach one of the hard mattresses and turn on the small television, flipping a couple times before I find a home remodeling show that I like. Sam sits on the couch and groans when the springs stab him in the back. "You only have to sit on the couch when we're all here," I remind him. "Stop being so whiny, get over her, and watch stupid TV."

There's a silence and I'm not sure if I insulted him or not, but finally Sam laughs and comes over. He sits beside me on the bed, near my head, for less than a minute before shifting to copy my position and lay on his stomach with his head next to mine at the foot of the bed. "If you were Dean, he'd force me to talk," Sam mutters after a minute.

"I am certainly not Dean," I note, raising my eyebrows at the understatement of the century. Dean and I click on professional and personal level, but we aren't very much alike except maybe in temper. "But I am also certainly not invested in this show. So if you wanted to talk…I wouldn't mind."

Jim is an expert at listening, engaging people in meaningful conversation, and getting them to open up. I don't even like listening to my own internal dialogue. As a rule, I avoid conversation – especially small talk and even more especially are talks about feelings. Right now, though, Sam Winchester needs to deal with his feelings. He takes a deep breath and then rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "You know what makes me crazy?" he asks.

"Hmm?" I look over at him, expecting something deep.

"The hotels that have mirrors on the ceilings," he replies. "I mean, know one looks good having sex. And what kind of narcissist wants to look at themselves while they're…doing the deed?"

I can't help but laugh. "I hate that you just said 'doing the deed' much more than mirrors on the ceiling." Sam laughs loudly, his sweet and kind of raspy laugh, turning his head to look at me with eyes that appear nearly green in this light.

"Do you think I'm the most selfish person you've ever met?" he asks softly. I know why he's asking and now it's my turn to sigh and roll over onto my back.

"I didn't have an actual Dad, but Jim more than filled that role." It's true. I was never left feeling abandoned or unloved. Even now from a distance, Jim makes sure I know how much he cares about me. "So if you're asking that because you've been complaining about your dad since we met and I don't have one…no." Sam chuckles a little at my delivery.

"You do think I'm selfish, though," he observes.

"I just don't understand you," I admit, being terrifically honest with him. "When John told Jim that you guys needed me…I was given no explanation. He needed to be found, you might need help hunting and finding him. So I jumped on a plane and I'm here."

"I don't understand you either," Sam tells me.

I have to laugh and say simply, "Because it's what we do. We're hunters, Sam – this is who you are and if that wasn't true you wouldn't be so good at it."

"No, no we're hunting for my dad."

"We are doing exactly what you dad would want us to do," I remind him, knowing that somewhere inside he knows this. "Let's be honest; we're going to find John Winchester exactly when he wants us to."

Sam is quiet for a long moment before I catch him crack a small smile. "Yeah, you're probably right about that."

I roll my side to face him, hoping to get through from him. "Sam, what's so bad about saving a few lives on the way to getting your answers, your revenge? This Sophie girl has a family. Isn't it worth it keep those people from feeling exactly what you do?" I don't have anything else to say, so I roll back over to watch TV. After a moment to think, Sam does the same and joins me in a comfortable silence.

 **…** **Morning…**

I'm up with the sun and find myself in one of the most awkward positions I've ever been in. At some point during the night, Sam and I had both fallen asleep while watching TV. So in the morning – with one of those terrible infomercials on, trying to convince me to by a pan that fries an egg in thirty seconds – I'm still lying beside Sam. What's worse is that during the night, likely because of our lack of blankets, we apparently sought heat from one another. I awake laying on my stomach, using Sam's bicep as a pillow as he sleep on his side facing me. A strong hand lies flat on my back, and my legs are tangled up in legs much longer than my own.

When my sleepy brain realizes all of this, I start to panic and immediately push myself up. Sam's hand falls off of my back and it startles him awake. I sit and slide to the edge, planting my feet on the floor and taking a deep breath so that I can calm down. I know it's not a big deal and it's not like we were even spooning. But no one touches me.

 _I never let myself get touched_.

My skin feels tingly in good and bad ways all at the same time. I pretty much hate it, but I think that's mostly because my current state of freaking out. Sam, however, just rolls slowly onto his back and stretches his arms out over his head. "I don't even remember falling asleep," he mumbles in a sleepy voice that I've come to love over the last few weeks. I guess I really don't remember falling asleep either.

"I'm gonna jump in the shower," I tell him, standing and moving toward our bathroom.

"Hey," Sam calls. I turn back and find him sitting now, turned and facing me with a sweet smile on his face. "What you said last night…you were right, and it helped. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." No, really. I'd prefer that he didn't mention this; I don't want anyone thinking I've gotten soft.

"I'm gonna call Dean and tell him to come back with breakfast," Sam calls to me as I step inside the tiny, dingy bathroom. "You feel like donuts?"

"Sure," I answer. All I feel like right now is trying to get my blood pressure and anxiety levels down. I strip off all of my clothes and get into the water without adjusting the scalding hot temperature. Sometimes, a minor all-over body burn is necessary. As much as I'd panicked at first, it doesn't take me long to calm down. It was all innocent and an accident.

Plus…Sam is pretty great. Yeah, his whole thing with not wanting to hunt frustrates me but that's just because this is all I've ever known. He's smart and sweet and funny. And he's not trying anything because he's also mourning a girl that he loved, so I don't need to have anxiety about that. He's been a good hunting partner and friend. Also, any girl who can bitch after waking up cuddling with a guy that looks like Sam Winchester is either crazy or very much a lesbian.

I calm myself down and hurry through getting washed up; there's very little pleasant about trying to get clean in a gross, old shower.

It's not until I step out that I realize my error. My fatal flaw. I didn't bring my bag in. I have to leave the bathroom in a towel in front of the Sam or Dean or both of them. One person, a thousand people, it's really all the same when it comes to this.

 _If I go out there in a towel, they'll see my scars; they'll know_.

It would be impossible see two identical, thick, pink scars following the exact curve of my shoulder blades and not ask what put them there. The question would bother me a hell of a lot less if I knew the answer. The truth is worse; I was born with those scars and they've grown with me. It's as if something was supposed to be there and never grew – but nothing should be there, so it adds to the freak factor.

Jim made sure I knew to keep them covered as a kid to stave off questions. As a teenager when I discovered what it really meant to be a freak, I took it upon myself. Jim hasn't even seen them since I was about eleven. Hell, I try not to see them unless it cant be avoided. Now as an adult hiding those super weird, way too obvious without a shirt on scars is a priority. I'd rather spend the entire day in the bathroom than go out there, in front of them.

It crosses my mind that they're most likely going to see them eventually. I spend all day every day with these guys, and I'm not even willing to wear a tank top in front of them. It's ridiculous and with how open the two of them have been with and in front of me, it's unfair. Still, I don't know if I'm ready.

I grab one of the provided towels and wrap it around my shoulders. The parts of me that are exposed with this method would absolutely kill the Pastor who raised me if he found out other people saw. Actually, I think it'd kill Sam from the shock. I wrap the towel under my arms instead and knot it in the front so that I don't have to hold it. I have to get my clothes and I'm going to need help.

I open the door enough for my head to fit and lean out. I don't see anyone at first glance. I guess Sam stepped out, but I call, "Hey, Sam?" No answer. "Dean?" Also nothing. It looks like I've caught a break, but I'm going to hurry. I push the door open and run, cutting to the other side of the room and grabbing the blue duffel bag I've had my whole life. Spinning around and dripping all over the carpet, I run back toward the bathroom. I jump inside to safety and hear the door open just as I start to shut this one.

"You totally did not need my help carrying these," I hear Sam saying. "You just wanted me to get another look at the waitress."

"That might be true," Dean replies. I roll my eyes at them but keep quiet, quickly yanking on my clothes. They don't have to know anything right now and I get donuts - and coffee judging by the smell. Once dressed, I yank a brush through my hair in futile attempt to tame it. There's only so much I can ever actually do with it. Once satisfied, I finally leave the bathroom. Dean beams up at him from his seat on the edge of one of the bed and says, "Donuts!" He mock toasts me with two chocolate glazed donuts squished together and I'm grateful that it's these two with me on the road.

 **…** **4 Hours, Lake Manitoc…**

We decide to stick together in town and start with the Carlton family. The girl who drowned lived in a house that backs up to the lake with her dad and brother. It's a good place to start since it'll give us a look at the lake, plus help us figure out if her family saw or heard anything that wasn't in the news report. When arrive to find a craftsman style cabin that I'd totally live in if I ever had the option to settle down and was actually willing to settle in a place as cold most of the year as Wisconsin. Out front is a twenty-something guy, fiddling around in the garage. Dean hands out the badges, as he always does, and we climb out of the car.

"What the hell? We're students?" Sam asks. I frown and double check my ID; it's definitely not a student ID.

"No," Dean answers with a smile that tells me he's up to something. "We," he motions to me and continues, "are with the Wildlife Service. You are a research student, tagging along."

"You're such a jerk," Sam tells him.

"Bitch," Dean retorts happily. I've rolled my eyes more since beginning this trip than ever in my whole life, I'm sure. The guy in the garage hears us coming and heads toward the front of the house, a frown on his face that tells me they're have a number of strangers come by to offer their condolences. "Will Carlton?" Dean calls, putting on his professional voice.

"Yeah?" he answers.

"We're with the U.S. Wildlife Service," Dean continues. He flashes his badge and I do the same as he introduces us, "I'm Agent Ford, and this Agent Hamill." I frown at the chosen aliases as he motions to Sam and says, "This one is our research lackey."

Will frowns at the insult so I jump in to keep everything focused. "We need to ask you a few questions about what happened to Sophie, and about the lake. Can you show us?"

He agrees and motions for us to walk with him around the side of the house. The back of the home has a screened-in patio and leads out into a wooded area. The lake is visible from the back of the house, and a path leads right down to the water and a dock that extends into the water about twenty feet. On first glance, there's nothing strange about the lake – no weird growths, tracks, smells, or even an eerie silence.

Will leads us out to the end of the dock and says, "This is where Sophie went swimming from."

"And where were you?" Sam asks.

"On the back porch," he answers, gazing out at the water instead of looking at us. He's anxious and sad, but not anxious in the way that a guilty person would be. "I was on the phone and she was about a hundred out. That's when she was dragged under."

 _That definitely wasn't in the news report._

I raise my eyebrows and exchange glances with the guys. "What makes you sure she didn't just drown?"

"She was a varsity swimmer," he says. "And she practically grew up in this lake. Sophie was as safe here as she was in the bathtub."

"Was there any splashing or signs of distress?" Dean asks.

Will shakes his head emphatically. "No, that's what I'm telling you."

"Did you see any shadows in the water?" Sam asks instead. "Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?"

"No, no…but I guess she was pretty far out there." The guilt in his voice is obvious and tugs on my heart, but we have a job to do.

I ask him, "Will, have you ever seen any strange tracks on the shoreline?"

"No, never," he answers with a frown. Will looks between all of us and asks, "Why? What do you think is out there?"

"You'll know as soon as we do," I assure him. "But what about your dad? Can we talk to him?"

Will takes a deep breath and shoves his hands into his pockets. "If you don't mind, it's better if you don't. He wasn't around to see anything and he's really been through a lot."

"We understand," Sam says. "Thank you for your time." We thank Will and take our leave, walking back toward the car quietly. I'm sure the guys are also listening for strange noises or looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing stands out. The lake seems normal…except that people keeping dying in it.

"That was a bust," Dean groans as we get back into the car. Sam pushes the seat forward to let me climb in; he's stopped offering me the front seat. "Sheriff's office next."

I remember something and hit Dean's shoulder as I tell him, "Hey, if anyone gets to be Indiana Jones, it's me." Dean looks shocked for a moment that I got one of his stupid references and then laughs loudly.

The Sherriff is surprisingly young, and he comes off as rather pleasant compared to the other cops we've come across. We introduce ourselves and Sherriff Scott invites us inside. "Now, I'm sorry, but why doesn't the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?" he asks.

He leads us through a small station and behind the desk into a small office, where he shuts the doors. "Are you sure it was accidental?" Dean asks casually. "Will Carlton is pretty sure something grabbed his sister."

"Like what?" Sherriff motions towards the chairs in the office for us to sit before he sits down behind his desk. "There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person, unless it's the Loch Ness Monster."

"Yeah, right!" Dean scoffs, laughing appropriately because it was obviously a joke. People have no idea the monsters that are out there.

"Look, Will Carlton was traumatized and sometimes the mind plays tricks," he tells us. "Besides, we dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep just to be sure." He shakes his head and concludes, "There's nothing down there."

"Isn't it weird, though?" Sam asks. He get this gentle pushing expression and voice that makes people want to tell him things. I need to learn that from him. "It's the third missing body this year."

"I know," the Sherriff responds firmly. "These are people from my town, people I care about." He's urgent and emphatic; I believe him. He sighs and continues, "Anyway, all this won't be a problem much longer."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks.

Sherriff looks at him like he's gone mad. "The dam."

"Oh, right, the dam," Dean agrees, nodding and smiling as if he has any idea what the Sherriff is talking about. If I don't know about the dam, I'm sure Dean doesn't. "It, uh, sprung a leak."

"It's falling apart," Sherriff corrects him. Fortunately, he laughs it off like we're is just dialing down the issue instead of dumb to it. "And the feds won't give us a grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway. In another six months, there won't be much of a lake." He shrugs and adds, "There won't be much of a town, either, but as Federal Wildlife…you already knew that."

Before we have to answer that, a quick rap on the door saves us. It pops open and I turn to find a pretty brunette woman. She frowns when she sees everyone in the office and asks, "Sorry, am I interrupting? I'll come back later."

Sherriff stands and says, "Agents, this is my daughter." He walks around the desk to greet her so we all stand.

Instead of just giving her a polite smile, Dean walks over and extends his hand toward her. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he says. "I'm Dean." I roll my eyes; Dean only uses his real name if he's interested in sleeping with the person he's talking to.

"Andrea Bar," she introduces herself, smiling up at him. "Hi."

"Hi."

"They're from the Wildlife Service, about the lake," Sherriff explains to his daughter. She just nods but doesn't seem to think it's as strange that we came out for like as her father does. We all start to move out of the office and into the station as the door opens and someone too small to be seen over the counter enters. The kid stops when he sees the crowd of people. He's cute, with brown hair down past his ears and big brown eyes.

"Hey there," Dean greets him. "What's your name?" The kid says nothing but turns away quickly and disappears into a back room, obviously avoiding us. That was weird.

Andrea answers fondly, "His name is Lucas."

"Is he…OK?" I ask, cautiously but concerned.

"My grandson…he's been through a lot," Sherriff Scott explains in kind of a vague way. He touches Andrea's shoulder and adds, "We all have." Sherriff looks back at us and says, "If there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know."

"Thanks," Sam says with a nod.

"Actually, now that you mention it," Dean begins. I fight the urge to kick him in the shins. "Could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?"

"Lake Front Motel," Andrea answers. "Go around the corner and it's two blocks up."

Dean pretends to think on that for a moment before he asks the inevitably stupid question. "Would you mind showing us?"

"You want me to walk you two blocks?" she asks, smiling playfully up at him, but obviously teasing him. "I'm headed that way anyway," she relents when Dean just smiles his most charming smile back at her. Andrea calls for Lucas who appears so quickly it makes me think he was standing right there the whole time. "I'll be back to pick you up at three," she tells him, going over and leaning down to be face to face with him. "We'll go to the park, OK?" Lucas doesn't respond or move as she kisses his head and then motions for us to follow.

I thank the Sherriff one more time before we walk outside. The town is small, almost quaint, and Andrea waves to several people as we turn the corner. She's walking ahead of us and I smack Dean's arm. "What the hell are you doing?" I ask him.

"Hitting on the Sherriff's daughter?" Sam chimes in, speaking in a whisper to match mine.

"Hey, I am just being friendly," Dean argues, smiling broadly. He starts jogging, quickly catching up to Andrea as she crosses a street. "So, cute kid."

"Thanks," I hear Andrea answer.

There's a pause between them while Dean tries to think of something else to say. Finally he manages, "Kids are the best, huh?" Sam snorts with choked laughter beside me and I bite my lip in an effort to hide my smile.

Andrea stops and points up at the sign for the motel. "Here it is. Like I said, two blocks."

"Oh. Thanks," Dean answers as we reach them.

"It must be hard with your sense of direction," Andrea says, taking a step backward away from us with a look of mock concern on her face. "Never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line." With that, she turns and cuts back across the street.

I'm unable to hold back my laughter now and Sam shoves his brother playfully, joining me in laughter. "'Kids are the best'? You don't even like kids," Sam notes, the sour look on Dean's face not helping his situation.

"I love kids!" he argues.

"Name three kids you even know," Sam challenges.

After a pause with both of us staring at him, Dean scoffs and protests, "I'm thinking!" I roll my eyes and laugh, heading for the hotel with Sam to leave Dean thinking over his failed attempt at love and the kids he apparently knows and adores.

It takes about a minute to get a hotel room, the usual fare for a small-town motel, and I take an opportunity to take off my shoes. "You know, I've been thinking," Sam notes, sitting down at the small table across from me. There's the three drowning victims this year. How many before that?"

"Six," I answer from memory. "Spread out over like 35 years. And those bodies were never recovered either."

"So if there is something out there, doesn't is seem like it's picking up it's pace?" Sam asks, frowning in concern. He right. Even evil usually follows a pattern and three in a year is not the pattern for this lake.

"So we got a lake monster on a binge?" Dean asks, flopping down onto one of the mattresses on his back. He grabs the case file and starts flipping through the pages.

I shake my head and admit, "The whole lake monster theory doesn't seem right to me."

"Why?" Sam asks, curious, not judgmental.

"Loch Ness, Lake Champlain…there are hundreds of eye witness accounts," I remind them. "Here? Nothing. No one has ever seen even a weird splash."

Sam nods slowly. "You're probably right. And whatever is out there, no one who does see it is living to talk to about it."

"Wait," Dean says suddenly, sitting up. "Bar. Christopher Bar, where have I heard that name?" He moves quickly, grabbing the laptop and typing something in. "Christopher Bar was the victim in May. He was Andrea's husband, Lucas's father." My stomach sinks at the thought; so wonder the kid didn't seem right. "Apparently he took Lucas out swimming in the lake. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. It was two hours before the kid got rescued."

"Oh my God," I mumble, horrified for the little guy.

"Maybe we have an eyewitness after all," Sam notes, raising his eyebrows.

"No wonder the kid was so freaked out," Dean says, standing and closing the laptop. "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over." Dean heads into the bathroom casually after that and we're left to ponder what he just said. I think Dean may have just found a line that might work on the mom.

 **…** **3:30pm, Park…**

We decided it would be best to wait until we knew Andrea was at the park with Lucas to talk to them. In the meantime, we grabbed lunch and tried to relax. Things are always more difficult when a kid is involved. At least it doesn't seem like Lucas is in danger since whatever is out there left him alone, but it's hard to think about questioning a kid on his dad's death. Sam wants to check out the actual sonar records, in case the Sherriff wasn't being as honest as he should have been, so he heads to the library with the car while Dean and I walk to the park.

Andrea is sitting alone on a bench under a tree at the edge of the playground. There are a number of kids on the jungle gym and swings, but Lucas is clearly visible; he's sitting by himself at a picnic table with what looks like paper and crayons. We approach the bench where Andrea is sitting and I ask, "Can we join you?" to get her attention.

She looks up and recognizes us, but seems a little apprehensive. "I'm here with my son."

"Mind if I say hi?" Dean asks. Without waiting for an answer, he walks off and heads over to Lucas, sitting down on the table top instead of the bench. I sit down on the bench with Andrea but at the opposite site, leaving ample space between us.

"Tell your friend that this whole 'Jerry Maguire' thing isn't going to work on me," Andrea quips.

I laugh. "While he'd appreciate the reference, I don't think that's what this is about." Dean is now coloring with a crayon as well on his own piece of paper. I know that an emotional connection makes people want to talk, and I also know that Dean won't mind so I explain, "Dean lost his mom in a fire. He was there and old enough to remember. it."

"Oh," she breathes. "It's…harder on kids." She shifts a little before saying, "Lucas hasn't said a word – not even to me – since his dad's accident."

"We heard about that." I look over at her and say genuinely, "I'm sorry." She gives me an appreciative smile and we look back to Dean and Lucas. Dean is showing Lucas his drawing now which, from a distance, looks pretty terrible. "What are the doctor's saying?" I ask, sure that she's taken him to several. No mom has a kid that goes mute and isn't worried.

"That it's some kind of post-traumatic stress," Andrea answers in a tone that makes me think she disagrees. Dean is heading back toward us.

I tell her honestly, "That can't be easy for either of you."

"We moved in with my dad and he helps a lot," she says. "It's just…" Her voice cracks a little but she continues, "When I think about what Lucas when through…what he saw…"

"Kids are strong," I assure her just as Dean joins us at the bench, standing beside me. "You'd be surprised what they can deal with."

Andrea gazes at me for a moment, glances up at Dean, and then smiles like she believes me. It's something I believe; otherwise the two people on this bench just wouldn't be here. We all look out at Lucas who is still coloring. "You know, he used to have such life," she breathes. "He was hard to keep up with to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there, drawing those pictures and playing with those army men."

Lucas is standing and walking toward us quickly, everyone going quiet and watching him. "Hey sweetie," Andrea greets him, holding out a hand to him. Lucas ignores her though and goes to Dean, handing him a piece of paper with a picture drawn on it.

"Thanks Lucas," Dean says, surprise evident. Without a word or waiting for anything else, Lucas turns and walks back toward the table. I'm impressed that Dean apparently isn't terrible with kids, but Andrea looks mostly confused and a little stressed out. We quickly thank her for talking to us and for letting Dean talk to Lucas before leaving together.

Dean hands me the drawing. It's a house with a porch and blue shutters on second level windows. It's actually pretty good, but I don't really understand why he made this drawing. On the walk to the hotel, I give Dean the low-down on my talk with Andrea while he listens intently. We're barely in the hotel room for a minute before Sam bursts through the door. "We can definitely rules out Nessie," he tells us.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks.

"I just drove past the Carlton's house," Sam explains. "There was an ambulance; Will Carlton is dead."

I close my eyes and ask, "He drowned?"

"Yeah and get this," he continues, sitting down on the mattress. "He drowned in the sink."

"What the hell?" Dean asks, appearing as confused as I feel. I didn't even know it was possible to drown in a sink. Something did this to Will.

"So this isn't a creature," I surmise, leaning back in the chair I'm sitting in. "We're dealing with something else."

Sam nods with a frown and asks, "Yeah, but what?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. Water wraith maybe? Something that controls water that comes from the same source."

"Right, the lake."

"Which would explain why it's upping the body count," Dean says emphatically, snapping his fingers.

I nod, understanding and sure he's right. Sam agrees, "Right, the lake is draining. The Sherriff said it'll be dry in a few months."

"Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants…it's running out of time," I note. "And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere."

"This is gonna happen again soon," Dean notes, a grim look on his face.

"We do know one thing for sure," Sam tells us. "This has something to do with Bill Carlton; it took both of his kids. And I did some digging. Lucas's dad, Chris? Bill Carlton's godson."

Dean jumps up. "We need to go pay Mr. Carlton a visit."

We pile into the Impala and hurry over the Carlton house. He's sitting out on the dock, on a lawn chair, facing the water. I can't help but be nervous at his vicinity to the water and wonder if something will happen to him, but the previous victims had been in the water. Besides, right after his son's body was taken away is probably like the right time to tell him the truth about monsters.

We approach him slowly and Sam calls out first, "Mr. Carlton?"

He says nothing so we get closer. Dean tries, "Sir, we're with the – "

"I don't care who you're with," Mr. Carlton answers in a raspy, tired voice. "I've answered enough questions today."

 _I wish we could just leave you alone, but people are going to die._

"Mr. Carlton, your son said he saw something in that lake," I tell him, hoping to gently pressure him into telling us the truth or at least understanding the brevity of the situation. "What about you? Did you ever see anything out there?"

The heavy-set, middle-aged man just sits there, silent and staring out at the calm water.

Dean gives a frustrated sigh and then says, "Mr. Carlton, with Sophie's drowning and Will's death we that whatever is happening…there's a connection. To you or to family."

"My children are gone," Mr. Carlton tells us, his voice breaking. "It's worse than dying. Please. Go away."

It would be really hard to find something to say in response to that. Sam turns toward Dean and I, shaking his head. He's asking us not to continue and it's harder to deny that sad look on his face. I nod and slap Dean's arm to show that I agree. He turns as well and without saying anything else to the distraught father, we walk back over the dock and toward the front of the house.

"What do you think?" I ask.

"I think the poor guy has been through hell," Sam answered. He shrugs and adds, "But I also think he's not telling us something."

I take a breath as we reach the Impala. "So, now what?" Dean stops suddenly and starts digging into his pocket, staring up at the back of the Carlton's house. "What is it?" I ask him, leaning with my palms on the hood of the car.

"I don't think Bill is the only one who knows something," Dean tells me, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. It's the picture that Lucas drew for him…and it's the Carlton's house. We moving quickly, piling into the Impala and Sam does a quick 411 search for Andrea's address. Fortunately it doesn't look like the Sherriff is home.

Dean gets there quickly and leads us up the walk, across the porch and to the front door where he knocks. Andrea opens it pretty quickly but her face falls into a frown when she sees us. "Dean? What are you guys doing here?"

"I need to talk to Lucas," Dean tells her with no preamble. Sometimes when he gets his mind set on a mission, he doesn't remember that other people don't know about it.

"What?" she asks, obviously confused.

"Andrea, we need to talk to Lucas about what happened on the lake," Sam says. "We think he saw something."

"He didn't – " she begins.

Dean pulls out the picture that Lucas drew and shows it to her. "This is the picture Lucas gave me in the park, this afternoon. It's Bill Carlton's house." Realization crosses Andrea's face but her apprehension doesn't fade.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," she tells us, shaking her head.

"I just need to talk to him for a minute," Dean protests.

"He won't say anything," Andrea reminds us. "What good is it going to do?" I can see that Dean is getting frustrated and Andrea isn't caving, so I step forward and move around Dean.

"Andrea," I being, trying to use the voice that Jim uses when he's imploring people. "More people could get hurt. We think something is happening out there."

I see the fear cross her face but she shakes her head. "My husband, the others…they just drowned. That's all."

"If that's what you really believe, we'll go," I challenge her, reading the look in her eye and hoping that I'm reading it correctly. "But if you think there's even a chance that something else is going on here…please. Just let Dean talk to Lucas."

Andrea hesitates and then nods so slightly I almost miss it. She lets all of us in, and closes the door behind us before heading up the stairs. Sam pats my shoulder for attention and gives me a look of impressed approval. I don't know why but I really appreciate that. I try not to blush and head up the stairs, stopping in the hallway with Sam and Andrea while Dean goes into Lucas's bedroom. He's sitting on the floor, surrounded by his drawings, army men, and crayons. He also looks rather intent on his current project – a big, black circle.

Dean isn't the obvious choice for this job but he's made a connection with Lucas and I'm trying to be hopeful as Dean folds his long legs to sit down on the floor. "Hey Lucas, remember me?" he begins. Lucas doesn't answer. "I wanted to, uh, thank you for that last drawing but the thing is, I need your help again." Dean shows him the picture of the house and asks, "How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was going to happen?"

Lucas doesn't answer, doesn't look up or move, and doesn't stop coloring. Andrea shifts her feet, anxious. "Maybe you could nod yes or no for me?" Dean suggests. Nothing from Lucas. "You're scared," Dean says gently. "It's okay. I understand. See…when I was a kid, I saw something real bad happen to my mom. And I was scared, too."

Now it's Sam's turn to shift as Dean continues, "I didn't feel like talking, just like you, but my mom…I know she wanted me to be brave. And I think about that everyday, and do my best to be brave. And maybe your dad wants you to be brave, too."

It's probably the sweetest thing I've ever heard Dean say and definitely the most open I've seen him. Still, mentioning the kid's dad is a risky move. If this is a PTSD thing, he could shut down completely. Lucas drops the crayon in his hand and freezes for a long second. Finally, he pushes aside some of the papers on the floor and picks one out to give to Dean. As far as any of us is concerned, that drawing is our next clue.

"Thank you Lucas," Dean says emphatically. We leave the kid alone and thank Andrea before leaving her alone, too. I notice that she's looking at Dean differently now but he doesn't seem to see it. I'm not going to say anything; we have a job to finish. Outside, Dean hands the drawing over to Sam and I on our way to the car. It's a yellow two-story house with a picket fence and a red bicycle parked out front. The house is near a church, tall and white with a cross on the top and a window right under it.

"It's a good lead," Sam says as we climb in. "Andrea said the kid never really started drawing like that before his dad died, right?"

That makes me think of something and I lean forward in the back seat. "You know, there are cases of people having gone through traumatic experiences that become more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies." It's our best idea for what's wrong with me…but the guys don't need to know that part of the story.

"You think Lucas might be tapping into this thing?" Dean asks.

"It's the best explanation we got," I note, shrugging my shoulders. Dean does that side to side head nod people do when they know you're right but they don't want you to be. Still, he doesn't argue or suggest an alternative.

"So we have another house to find," Sam says, looking at the drawing again in the dim orange glow from passing streetlights.

Dean scoffs. "There's probably about a thousand yellow two-story houses in this county alone."

He's got a point. Sam holds up the picture and points to the church. "I bet there's less than a thousand of these around here?" He's got a point.

"Oh, college boy thinks he's so smart," Dean teases, earning a laugh from Sam. I just lean back in the seat, thoroughly exhausted.

I start to close my eyes through a rare moment of quiet when Sam begins softly, "You know…what you said about Mom. You never told me that before."

"It's no big deal," Dean tells him casually.

"I think it is," Sam argues. "And I think you're brave." I watch Dean look over at his brother and can tell that the sentiment made him entirely uncomfortable. He doesn't know what to say but if he doesn't say anything, Sam will be less likely to be open with him in the future and they need to work on their relationship.

I do the one thing I know to do in these situations; crack a joke.

"Oh, God, you're not gonna hug or anything or are you?" I groan as though disgusted in the back seat. Both of them laugh, breaking the tension and accomplishing my mission. Dean catches my gaze through the rearview and I'm certain that he looks a little grateful. There's no need to be grateful; I just want to get into bed as soon as possible.

 **…** **Morning...**

We start out first thing the next morning, driving all over town to every church we can find. It takes two hours before we find the one – tall and white, with the stone shaped into a cross at the top and a window under it. Directly across the street is one yellow two-story house with a picket fence. We park and head up to the house, knocking once before it's opened by an elderly woman with gray hair. She looks frail and…sad. "We're sorry to bother you, ma'am," Sam tells her. "But does a little boy live here? He probably rights a red bicycle."

The woman blinks. "No, sir," she answers. "Not for a very long time."

"But a boy used to?" I ask.

"Yes. My son Peter," she tells us.

"Ma'am, would you mind telling us about Peter?" Sam asks softly. The old woman's face grows sadder but she nods and lets us in without so much as asking who we are. It's lonely and depressing, and her house is very much the same.

She leads us into the living room, saying, "Peter has been gone for 35 years now. The police never had any idea what happened." Sam taps my hand and motions toward the fireplace. The mantle is covered in tiny green army men, exactly like the ones Lucas plays with.

 _Looks like we've found our spirit…but why so angry, Peter?_

"Did he disappear from home?" Sam asks. Dean walks over to a bookshelf and pulls down a picture frame, turning it over. He apparently sees something because he glances up at Peter's mom before beginning to remove the picture from the frame in stealth.

She doesn't notice and answers Sam, "He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, but he never showed up." The woman's voice cracks and tears start to fill her eyes. "Losing a child like that…it's worse than dying."

There's a phrase I've heard before. We thank Peter's mom for her time and head out. "Check this out," Dean says as soon as we leave. The picture is old and discolored but clearly shows three, smiling young boys. The back has their names, faded and only two legible but they definitely say, 'Peter Sweeney and Bill Carlton'.

We move quickly then, climbing into the Impala with the destination unspoken. The engine isn't even turned before my head starts to ache, beginning at the base of my skull like it always does. I do not need this right now and I force myself to ignore it.

"Okay so this little boy, Peter Sweeney, disappears," Sam begins, summing up what we know. "And it all seems to be connected to Bill Carlton somehow."

"Bill is definitely hiding something," Dean grunts.

"And it's the people he loves that are dying," I remind them. "Like he's being punished…like Bill did something to Peter."

"What if Bill killed him?" Sam suggests, eyebrows raised. "Peter's spirit would be furious."

"He'd want revenge," Dean agrees, pressing the gas pedal a little harder. We get out to Bill Carlton's house pretty quickly and I wait off the porch while Sam and Dean knock, calling for him with no answer. A sound catches my ear from out back and I walk to the edge of the house, slowly. The sound is a boat engine…the boat Bill Carlton is in at the lake.

"Mr. Carlton, no!" I shout, taking off running. I have to stop him. The guys are running several steps behind me, yelling for him. Mr. Carlton either doesn't hear us or ignores us and guns the boat forward, shooting out into the lake as I hit the dock. I run to end, still calling for him. "Mr. Carlton please, you have to come out of the water!"

The engine hasn't even slowed when a phantom wave comes out of nowhere, sending the boat flying up into the air and then down into the water hard. The boat bobs as the guys come up beside me, but there's no sign of Mr. Carlton anywhere. No splashing…nothing. He's gone.

 **…** **1 Hour Later, Sherriff's Office…**

We called the police with our ridiculous story, as scary as that idea always is. No one wants the police involved in our business, but they need to know what happened to Bill Carlton. Besides, we're hopeful that they will close off the lake until it drains to avoid any further deaths – just in case Peter has more vengeance to wreak.

We follow Sherriff Scott back to his office and arrive at the department just as Andrea and Lucas appear. I can't help but notice that the kid is antsy and pale. "Sam, Dean," she begins. Smiles at me and says, "Hi Kenzie. I didn't expect to see you guys here."

"So now you're all on a first name basis?" The Sherriff gruffs. He looks at his daughter and asks, "What brings you here?"

Andrea holds out the covered aluminum pan I hadn't noticed she was carrying. "I brought you dinner."

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he responds. "I really don't have time."

"Dad, I heard about Bill Carlton," she tells him, glancing quickly down at Lucas. "Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?" She's looking at all of us for the answer.

Before we can say anything, the Sherriff tells her, "We don't know what's true right now. But I think it's best if you and Lucas go home." Andrea nods and Lucas – who we've never seen any emotion from – panics. He rushes forward and grabs Deans hand, yanking it like he wants to tell Dean something desperately but can't get it out.

"Lucas, hey, what is it?" Dean asks, obviously disturbed by the display.

"Lucas, it's OK," I tell him. He's going something to say and it's making me nervous. "What is it?"

Andrea wraps an arm around her son and pulls him away from Dean gently. "Lucas, it's OK. C'mon let's get you home." She looks concerned and walks away, trying to calm her son who keeps looking back at us with so much to say in his eyes.

"Inside," Sherriff says to us, opening the door. We obey and walk straight into his office, no one sitting down this time as Sherriff closes the door and stands on the other side of his desk. I try to ignore the throbbing that's building to build at the base of my skull. "OK. I just want to be clear. You saw something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill – who is a very good swimmer, by the way – into the drink, and you never see him again?"

Dean nods and answers, "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"And I'm supposed to believe this?" he asks. "Even though I've already sonar-swept that entire lake, what you're describing is impossible, and you're not really federal wildlife?" My stomach drops and I feel Sam shift beside me, probably preparing to get the hell out of here. "Yeah, I checked. The department has never heard of you two." He points to Dean and I, then motions to Sam and adds, "And I have a feeling U of Wisconsin would say the same about you."

"Sir, we can explain," Sam begins.

"Enough," the Sherriff interrupts, shaking his head and looking down at the desk as if he's exhausted. "The only reason you're all breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering the boat out when you got there. So, we have a couple of options here." He walks around to the front of the desk, leans on it, and folds his arms over his chest.

"I can arrest you for impersonating government officials," he begins. "And hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton's disappearance. Or, we chalk all this up to a bad day. You get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you never darken my doorstep again." His voice is definitely threatening and there's no doubt in my mind he'd lock us up.

"Door number two sounds good," Dean says, forcing an uncomfortable smile. I can't say anything or smile as a sudden pain shoots forward from the back of my head. I force myself not to react, fisting my hands and squeezing hard.

Sam presses a hand to my back to guide me out of the office and Dean holds the front door open as we leave. "What's wrong?" Sam asks.

"Nothing," I tell him even though it's a lie. "Headache." We get back to the hotel quickly and pack up all of our things. If the Sherriff wants us out of town, that's where we need to be. I'd feel a lot better about leaving if the sun wasn't setting, bringing on darkness as the pain in my skull only increases. As I lean down to climb into the car, another sharp pain hits me and I have to stop, pressing a hand to my forehead to hold it all together.

"Hey," Sam breathes, touching my shoulder gently. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"I think so," I answer. This should be over, so this is just a headache. I get into the car and put my feet up on the backseat, leaning back and closing my eyes as darkness enfolds the car. Dean heads for the highway, driving uncharacteristically slow.

"What's going on?" Sam asks him. "You're driving the speed limit."

"Something doesn't feel right," Dean answers. I peek open my eyes and catch him glancing back at me.

"Dean…I think this job is over," Sam says carefully.

Dean shakes his head and argues, "But I'm not so sure."

"If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney, and Peter got his revenge, then the case should be closed." Sam is right. Even as I think it, the vice like pain in my head grips harder.

"Mack…the headaches," Dean begins. "Are they ever just headaches?"

"Sometimes," I answer honestly. "But it's not often."

"What?" Sam asks, turning around in his seat to look at me. "What are you talking about?"

Dean takes a breath. "Sammy, the only reason we made it back to you in time to get you out of the fire the night Jessica died is because Mack had a headache. She made me turn around. They…signal bad things."

 _At least he doesn't sound thoroughly freaked out by that._

"Still…this should be over," Sam breathes. He's right; I know that he's right.

"But what if we take off and this thing isn't done?" Dean asks. "What if we missed something? What if more people get hurt?"

Sam watches him for a moment and asks, "Does this have anything to do with the way Lucas was acting this afternoon?"

"He did seem really scared," I mumble, remembering that now through the fog of this pain.

Dean stops at a stop sign and doesn't move again. "I just don't want to leave town until I know the kid is OK."

"Who are you and what have you done with my jerk brother?" Sam asks playfully.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean responds, gunning the engine around a corner to head back in the other direction. If I didn't think it might kill me, I'd roll my eyes at them. It takes Dean less than two minutes to speed to Andrea's house. He jumps out and hurries toward the door but Sam hangs back, helping me out. I lean on him harder than I mean to when I first step out of the car, losing my balance. It makes my heart skip even through the fog in my brain to feel his muscles through his clothes. Sam doesn't shove me away, though; he wraps an around my shoulder gives me a moment to gather myself.

I take a deep breath and right myself, feeling the pain lessen. "It's getting better," I tell him.

"That's good."

"No. It only gets better when I get to the trouble." I feel him tense and we start moving, following Dean's path up to the door. Dean has been knocking hard the whole time and as we reach the porch, it flies open. Lucas is there, pale and panting.

"Lucas?" Without a word the boy spins and starts running. Dean takes off following and Sam is right on their heels. With my head still reeling a little, I can only hurry behind them. "Lucas!" Dean shouts as they reach the top of the stairs.

"Andrea!" Sam shouts. I pick up my pace, reaching the end of the hallway where Lucas is staring into a room. It's the bathroom and Sam and Dean are both almost submerged into the tub, struggling and grunting. They're trying to pull Andrea out.

I immediately grab Lucas and pull him away, gathering him into my arms and pressing his face into my shirt. "It's OK Lucas," I breathe to him. "Don't watch, don't look Buddy. They'll get your Mom." Lucas surprises me by wrapping his arms around me and clinging to me. I don't want him to watch something else traumatic; God knows how he'd end up.

Finally I hear a big splash and Andrea can be heard, gasping. Dean appears, carrying her in his arms while Sam tosses a robe over her. "Help," Dean breathes to me. I know they're trying to help Andrea out of her very naked situation.

"Lucas, go to your room," I tell him gently. "Dean will come in really soon." Lucas releases me and glances into the bathroom cautiously before walking across the hall and into his bedroom. I hurry to the end of the hall where Sam and Dean are coming out of the other bedroom and push past them. Andrea is shaking from head to toe, pale as can be. I grab a towel from the back of the door and bring it to her, wrapping it around her shoulders and patting gently to dry her off. The robe just laying around her so I push her arms inside it and pull it on completely, giving her some privacy. As I finish and sit beside her to start drying her hair, Andrea blinks for the first time and starts coming around.

"You saved me," she mutters.

"No, Sam and Dean saved you," I correct her. There's a soft knock on the door and Sam appears, carrying a mug.

I motion for him to come in and Andrea accepts the mug of coffee eagerly. "Thank you. Where is Lucas?"

"He's with Dean," Sam answers. "And he's OK." She nods and Sam hangs back, giving me a look. We need to talk to her about what happened.

"Andrea," I say softly. "Can you tell me?"

She shakes her head slowly. "No. It doesn't make any sense; I'm going crazy."

I grab her free hand and assure her, "No, you're not. I need you to tell me what happened. Everything." Andrea gazes at me for a second before taking a breath.

"I heard…" She shakes her head and corrects, "I thought I heard…there was this voice."

"What did it say?"

"Come play with me," she answers, panic and disturbance coming through in her tone. I can't blame her; that's creepy. "What is happening?" she demands, voice cracking.

Sam comes forward, holding out the picture that we took from Peter Sweeney's house. "Do you recognize the kids in this picture?"

Andrea gives him a confused look but takes the picture. "No…except for my Dad." She points to third boy. "He must have been about Lucas's age there."

I look up at Sam who is staring back at me, wide-eyed. "Chris Bar's drowning. The connection wasn't to Bill Carlton," he breathes.

"It must have been to the Sherriff," I agree. "Bill and the Sherriff. They were both involved with Peter."

"What about Chris?" Andrea asks. "What are you two talking about?"

"Hey," Dean says, appearing in the doorway. "I got something." He hands out a new drawing from Lucas, again of the back of the Carlton. "Lucas wants us to go back to the house."

Without much protest, Andrea gets herself and Lucas dressed. We get into the Impala and they follow us to Bill Carlton's house in their car. Lucas jumps out before anyone else has a chance and starts walking toward the back of the house. We all hurry, following the kid until he stops suddenly. He's standing in the middle of path, surrounded by what looks the same as everywhere else. If Lucas says something is here, though, we're going to find it.

"Go into the house and stay here," Dean tells Andrea and Lucas. They start moving, Andrea pulling her son. "Let's get shovels." The guys hurry to the car, leaving me to worry about what's down there. The best case scenario is that Peter was buried here; if we salt and burn his bones, all of this will be over. Other more disturbing options cross my mind so I'm anxious as the guys start digging under the light of the flashlight I hold. It only takes minutes in the soft dirt before Dean's shovel bounces off of something. He hits it again; whatever that is, it's metal.

The guys quickly move aside dirt, grabbing the first bit of the thing they can and pulling it out. An old, red bicycle. "Peter's bike," I breathe. They really did kill him, and they buried his bike so that every part of him disappeared. Bill Carlton even built a house on the land where they buried it so that no one would ever find it.

The metal pressed into my spine is cold, even through my shirt and jacket. I know what a gun feels like, against me and subconsciously. "Who the hell are you people?" Dean and Sam spin around as their eyes go wide with horror. All three of us raise our hands slowly and I don't dare to look backward. I don't need to; Sherriff Jake Scott has his gun on me.

"Put the gun down, Jake," Dean tells him, firmly but cautiously.

"How did you know that was there?" he demands, voice shaking a lot like his hand.

"What happened?" Dean asks. "You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake, then buried the bike?" He's acting on the Sherriff's obvious emotional state. He's freaked out which means we can push him a little.

"Dad!" Andrea's voice cries out from nearby and she comes running, stopping beside her dad and staring at the gun. "What the hell are you doing?" she demands.

I feel him quake behind me. He doesn't want to go through this in front of his daughter. "You can't bury the truth, Jake," I tell him. "Nothing stays buried."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he shouts.

"You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago!" Sam shouts in response, daring to take a step closer to us. He looks afraid, I can tell, but he sounds totally in control if not angry.

"Dad?" Andrea asks softly.

Sam continues, "And now you have one seriously pissed off spirit. It's going to take Andrea and Lucas and everyone else you love. It's going to drown them and drag their bodies God knows where so that you can feel the same pain Peter's mom feels."

"Jake, it's going to take you," I warn him. "It did the same thing to Bill Carlton. It won't stop until it breaks you and then kills you."

"You're insane – all of you!" Jake shouts, shoving the gun harder into my spine.

"I don't give a rat's house what you think of us," Dean responds. "But if we're going to take this spirit down, then we need to find the remains."

"Jake, tell me you buried Peter somewhere," Sam pleads in a much softer voice this time. "Please, tell me you didn't just let him go in the lake."

"Dad!" Andrea shouts. "Is any of this true?" She sounds frantic, probably at her father's reaction. I can't see him, but I can feel him shaking and hear him beginning to cry.

"Don't listen to them," Jake tells Andrea. "They're liars and they're dangerous."

"Something tried to drown me tonight, Dad!" Andrea informs him, stepping much closer than I'd like to her while he's threatening my life. I keep quiet as she continues, "Chris died on that lake. Dad! Look at me!" She pauses and says, almost begging, "Please tell me you didn't kill anyone."

I hear a sob from behind me and Andrea whispers, "Oh my God."

"It was an accident," Jake protests. "We were all at the lake, and Peter was the smallest one. Billy and I always bullied him but…this time it got rough. We were…holding his head under the water." I close my eyes, disturbed. "But we held him under too long, and he drowned." Jake's voice cracks and I feel the gun move. He must put it down because Dean and Sam both lunge for me, grabbing my arms and jerking me away from him. Sam plants me firmly in front of him, wrapping an arm protectively around my shoulders and pinning me to him.

I grab his forearm, for once not totally freaked out by human contact. His hug and protection is a relief in this moment. Dean angles himself in front of us, prepared to move if Jake decides to shoot. Prepared to take that bullet. This isn't a moment I'm going to forget.

Jake is crying now and he continues, "Andrea, we were kids and we were so scared! It was just a mistake." He turns and points at us when he yells, "But to say that I have anything to do with these drownings – with Chris – because of a ghost? This isn't rational!"

 _Yeah, we don't really work in the realm of rational._

"Alright, listen to me," Dean says firmly. "We need to get all of you away from this lake, as far as we can and right now."

Andrea's scream is so loud, so horrified, and so unexpected that it makes my whole body jump. "Lucas!" She's staring past us, down at the lake and we all turn. Lucas is there, at the end of the dock. He's on his hands and knees, leaning into the water.

I start running without thinking, moving as fast as I can. I know that I have seconds to catch him before it happens – before Peter drags him down. I hear the others behind me, shouting for Lucas to get away from the water. I'm steps away when I see a hand shoot up from under the water's surface and grab Lucas's wrist. He's into the water in a flash and I don't think before jumping in head first. The water is dark and murky, but I feel something in front of me and grab on. I realize it's a kid-sized leg just as I hear a splash beside me and pray that Andrea wasn't dumb enough to jump in.

I turn, keeping my hold on the leg and angling my body with my head toward the surface. I pull, as hard as I can, but I can feel myself being dragged down further by Peter. Lucas is thrashing, not helping but at least I know he's still conscious. My body begins to scream for air just as I feel an arm snake around my waist and pull on me. Even with both of us pulling, Peter's unnatural force is too strong. I can hear muffled shouting above the water but I'm starting to lose energy. I'm going to lose Lucas and Lucas is losing too, his thrashing starting to slow significantly.

I'm still pulling hard enough that when Lucas is released, I yank his foot back almost right into my face. Dean's face appears beside me, letting me go and grabbing from around the waist. We make a rush for the surface as my lungs and throat start to burn, the pain only increasing as I know the air is coming soon. I begin to realize just how far down we'd gone and consider freaking out when I hit the hair, breaking through the surface in a rush and taking the biggest breath I can manage.

Dean pops up beside me a second later, Lucas's head beside his. Dean gasps and Lucas begins to cough – the best sound I think I've ever heard. "Lucas!" Andrea shouts, breaking out of where Sam had her in a tight hold on the dock and rushing for the edge. Sam helps her pull Lucas up while Dean and I get ourselves out of the water. I lay on my side for a moment, sure that Lucas is alright and catching my breath. Dean taps my arm and then lifts his hand for a high-five. I laugh but give it to him. We finally saved someone here.

"Guys," Sam mutters, shaking his head. He looks toward the shore and we follow his gaze. At the edge of the water lays Sherriff Scott's gun, his badge, and his jacket. It hits me then why Peter released Lucas; Jake offered him the thing he really wanted. We only saved Lucas because Jake sacrificed himself, and someone still died today. Andrea and Lucas lost someone else because of something two dumbass bullies did when they were kids.

The only good that could possibly emerge from this is if Lucas remembers and manages to find someone to stand up for.

 **…** **Next Evening…**

We stuck around during the day for the rest of the police force to ask questions. Andrea decided to tell them the truth about Peter, about how we found the bike. Then she said that Jake jumped into the lake and drowned, just like everyone else had. The cops came away with the decision to close the lake until it drained, just in case. They don't need that precaution, and it's definitely too little too late. But at least Peter's mom and Andrea both received the closure they deserved.

And, honestly, there's a part of me that's happy Peter got his revenge. I know that's not a thought Jim would be proud of, and I'm looking forward to a call to talk to him about it. I know it's not the right thing. But I also know what it's like to be bullied…when everyone thinks you're a freak. Peter was murdered before he ever had a chance. I can't say I blame him for getting angry and I'm happy his spirit is at rest now.

I toss my duffel bag into the trunk of the car and shut it so that we can leave the motel and this town. "Hey, wait!" a voice calls from behind me. I turn, knowing Sam and Dead will as well, and see Lucas and Andrea approaching us. Lucas is carrying a big, round hoagie tray and it was Lucas who called out just now.

"We're glad we caught you," Andrea says, arm around Lucas's shoulder and a smile on her face. "We, um, we made you lunch for the road. Lucas insisted on making all the sandwiches himself."

"Can I give it to them now?" he asks. I smiel more at the sound of his voice than the sandwiches.

"Come on, Lucas, help me load them in the car," Dean calls to him from the driver's side. Lucas beams and walks to him while Andrea approaches Sam and I.

"How are you holding up?" Sam asks.

She takes a breath. "It'll take some time to sort through everything, you know."

"We know," I offer. "We're sorry, Andrea." I feel bad for not saving Jake, for not getting here months ago to save Chris.

"You saved my son; I couldn't ask for more." She smiles like she means it. "Dad loved me and Lucas. Whatever he did…I have to hold onto that." I can't help but agree and nod. She touches my arm and smiles up at Sam before approaching Lucas and Dean who are high fiving.

"Take care of your mom, OK?" Dean tells Lucas as he stands. Lucas nods firmly. Andrea approaches Dean and I just have to roll my eyes when she kisses his mouth, gently. She breaks away, smiling at him, and steps back, holding Lucas in front of her. Dean recovers and looks over at his as he shouts, "Move your asses! We're gonna run outta daylight before we hit the road." We just laugh and pile into the Impala, off to the next bad guy. Andrea and Lucas wave us off, the survivors of what could really have been much worse.


	4. 1x4: Terror in the Skies

The light flicking on shines right through my closed eyelids and yanks me out of a sound, dreamless sleep. I groan and cover my eyes, wincing through the yellow glow to find Sam coming out the shower and smiling as if he knows he's just ruined my sleep. He's wearing nothing but a towel around his waist though so I don't mind as much as I normally would. "Good morning sunshine," he says in a teasing voice, grabbing his clothes and heading back for the bathroom.

"What time is it?" I groan.

"Five forty-five," he answers, leaving the bathroom door open because it's turned sideways and I can't see in. I'd die from embarrassment if I could so this works for both of us.

"In the morning?" I demand, disturbed at this early wake-up call. I look over and find that Dean has not been awaken by the light, sound asleep on the other bed with his head tucked firmly under a pillow.

"Yep," Sam answers happily as if this isn't a God awful time. We didn't even check into this hotel until after midnight. I'm gonna have to kick his ass – even if he did reward me with a shot of his abs. I wonder if he knows that works on me. I swallow and pray I'm not that obvious.

I sit up and quip, "Where does the day go?" Sam comes out of the bathroom, still smiling and wearing clothes now – jeans and a dark gray sweater. Christ, the Winchester boys can really _wear_ a pair of jeans. I focus and ask casually, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Sam shrugs, sitting down at the small table and opening his laptop. "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours," he answers.

"You're a liar," I inform him, earning a surprised but guilty face. "'Cause I woke up at three and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial – intently."

"Hey, what can I say? Riveting TV," he responds, recovering from both surprise and guilt apparently. And trying to avoid the subject.

"Sam, when was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" I ask him gently. He's always the last one up watching TV and the first one up in the morning. This isn't the first time I've caught him in the middle of the night, either. Now he just shrugs.

"I don't know; a little while I guess. It's not a big deal."

"I think it is," I argue. We're past the point of walking on eggshells and this is an important conversation.

Sam turns to give me an almost cocky smile that I'm pretty sure he learned from Dean and teases, "I appreciate your concern."

"I'm not concerned about you," I scoff, totally lying. "It's your job to watch my back and keep me alive, so I need you sharp. You don't want Pastor Jim on your ass." Sam laughs and nods a little, turning back to the computer. He's not getting off this easy. "Hey." Sam looks over at him again, his gaze getting softer. "Seriously. You still having nightmares?"

"Yeah," he answers honestly after a pause. My heart aches for him. "But…it's not just Jess. It's everything." He turns to face me and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I just forgot, you know? This job…it really gets to you."

I shake my head, knowing this isn't good. "You have to try to fight that. It's not healthy to bring it home like this."

"None of this ever keeps you up at night?" he asks.

"Not really," I tell him truthfully with a shrug. This has been my whole life. At least now I know what I'm dealing with.

"You're never…afraid?" he asks cautiously, glancing toward his brother to make sure he's sleeping.

"I mean yeah, sometimes." I shake my head and continue, "But then whatever the scary thing is, we deal with it and we kill it and then it's gone. And even the next thing…I know we'll handle. You guys wouldn't let me get hurt, and I have your back, too."

Sam smiles that adorable smile he has sometimes but can't answer because Dean sits up suddenly, moving around oddly. I start to hearing a soft buzzing and realize that he's looking for his buzzing phone. "Hello?" he answers it, laying back down. After a pause he sits up again, putting his feet on the floor. "Oh, yeah, up in Pennsylvania. You had a poltergeist thing, right? It's not back is it?"

I look over at Sam who just shrugs.

Dean pauses again before he asks, "What is it?" He looks serious. "Oh, yeah, sure. You got an address?" Dean writes something down and tells him, "Got it. We'll be there tomorrow morning. OK Jerry, see you then." Dean closes his phone and tosses it aside.

"Old client?" I ask.

"Yeah, we helped him out a few years ago," he answers. "He says he's got something he thinks is pretty serious, but he didn't want to talk about it over the phone."

"So where are we going?" Sam asks.

 **…** **Next Morning; Kittanning, Pennsylvania…**

We spend most of the day on the road to get to Jerry at his office the next. We weren't really expecting his office to be at the FAA headquarters for the area. Jerry meets us at the car, happy to meet all of us apparently. "Thanks for making the trip so quickly," he says, motioning for us to follow him inside. "I ought to be doing you a favor and not the other way around." He looks up at Sam and adds, "Dean and your dad really helped me out."

"Yeah, he told us. It was a poltergeist?" Sam asks. We've been wondering if it's the same thing, even if Jerry might be in denial about it.

Someone walking past stops and says, "Poltergeist? Man, I just saw that on TV. Great movie."

I can't help a laugh but Jerry says, "Hey! Back to work!" We keep walking and the guy just mumbles under his breath as he takes off. "Damn right it was a poltergeist and I'll tell you something; if it wasn't for your dad and Dean, I don't think I'd be alive." I refrain from rolling my eyes, unsure if he's dramatic or just a kiss-ass. "Your dad said you were off at college?"

"Yeah, I was," Sam answers. His voice is both kind of sad and anxious. I know he kind of wishes he was still there but mostly the last fight that he had with his dad – when leaving – still bothers him. Sam has a lot he needs to work out with his dad from what I understand and the whole college thing is a big part of that. "I'm, uh, taking some time off."

"Well he was real proud of you; I could tell," Jerry continues. "He talked about you all the time." I glance over at Dean who has a small, almost smug smile on his face. Sam looks confused.

"He did?"

"Of course." Jerry stops and looks at Dean. "Hey, I tried to get a hold of him first, but I couldn't. How's he doing?" I can tell Jerry is asking genuinely. There are hunters who talk trash on John Winchester, but mostly because they aren't as good as him.

"He's wrapped up in a job right now," Dean answers easily.

"Hmm. Well, we're missing the old man but we got Sam," Jerry says, smiling enthusiastically. "Even trade, huh?"

I laugh now and joke, "Not even close." Sam makes a face at me but the others laugh and Jerry continues walking again.

"And you're a family friend?" Jerry asked, looking at me now. He's only a couple of inches taller than me which is unusual for a man.

"Kenzie was brought up by one of our dad's best friends," Dean answers. "And she's a pretty badass hunter. It's good we have her on the team." I look up at Dean and stick my tongue out at him, earning a smile and a playful shove.

"Well then I'm glad she's here," Jerry says, ushering us into his office. "I have something I want you guys to here." He moves toward a tape recorder and says, "I listened and it sounded like it might be up your alley. Normally, I wouldn't have access to this kind of thing. It's a cockpit voice recording for United Britannia Flight 2485 – one of ours."

Jerry begins to play the tape. The pilot can be heard among the alarms, calling for mayday repeatedly. The recording is full of another sound, too and I think it might be EVP. It's pretty terrible to listen to a plane starting to go down with all the panic that comes through easily, and Jerry turns it off as quickly as he can. "It took off from here and traveled about 200 miles south. Now they're saying mechanical failure."

"What happened?" Sam asks

"The cabin depressurized somehow," Jerry answers, shaking his head slowly. "Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board and only seven got out alive; the pilot, Chuck Lambert, was one of them. He's a good friend of mine and he's…well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault."

"You don't think it was?" I clarify. The pilot is usually equipped for handling things like mechanical failure.

"No, I don't," Jerry answers firmly.

Dean nods and says, "OK Jerry, we're going to need passenger manifests and a list of the survivors."

"Any chance we can take a look at the wreckage?" I ask. There might be something worth it there.

"The other stuff is no problem…but the wreckage." Jerry winces. "The NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way do I have that kind of clearance."

I look up at Dean who has a downright cocky look on his face. He gives Jerry a wink and tells him, "No problem." We collect the information we'd asked Jerry for as well as the recording from the cockpit and promise to be back soon with an update. He seems like a nice enough guy and I hope we can help him out again. Something tells me John would be disappointed if we failed a repeat customer and I hate the idea of disappointing John. Jim always talked about the guy like he was some kind of hero. I don't know him well enough to know if that's true – and I'm sure Sam would disagree – but I'd still rather do right by him.

Dean drives us right to a copy place where he disappears inside, promising to 'work his magic'. Sam and I are left in the car where he joins me in the backseat so that we can work on the evidence we have. I'm focusing on the survivors, making a couple phone calls and using the internet to track them down for questioning now. I also start a check of the entire manifest to see if anything joins the victims or the survivors, even though I know that's a long shot. Sam is working on the cockpit voice recorder to narrow down the EVP for the message; there's always a message with EVP.

After nearly an hour of working silently, Sam says, "Hey I got it." He removes the head phone port and says, "Listen."

A high-pitched but not obviously female and raspy voice says clearly, "No survivors."

"That's not totally helpful," I note, confused by it. The spirit or whatever that is was wrong since people did survive. The EVP isn't likely to be our first step toward this investigation, so hopefully the wreckage is helpful. "Dean is taking forever."

"Unfortunately, he's really good at this," Sam notes, leaning forward like he's trying to see if Dean is visible inside the shop.

"Why is that unfortunate?" I ask. "It'd be tough to get by without those IDs in this job."

"Maybe it'd just be nice to have a job that didn't require so many illegal things."

I laugh and joke, "Right, because lawyers are all so clean cut." Sam laughs and shrugs his shoulders innocently. "I get what you mean, though. It's something Jim and I talked about a lot." Sam looks at me as if this information surprises him. "The good Pastor looked at it all from a big picture perspective. We'd be limited in our ability to save people and even vulnerable against the bad guys if we didn't…bend the laws. Are we really doing something bad if we're using it for a good cause?"

"I guess I never really considered it that way," he replies after a pause, thinking it over. He gives a humorless laugh and says, "You know, whenever I brought this up to my dad he'd just yell about my inability to just take a damn order."

"That must have been tough," I allow. It probably sucked to have his dad on his ass all the time, just because Sam had questions. "It was probably tough not to have the right answers too, though." Sam just blinks but I know that he's thinking and not upset at what I said. We both jump when the car door opens suddenly and Dean appears, dropping into the seat. "You've been in there forever."

"You can't rush perfection," he answers, holding two new badge holders over his shoulder. Sam takes them and opens them, handing one to me.

"Homeland Security," Sam observes. "That's pretty illegal; even for us." He's got a point. If we get caught with these, we're doing some serious time as terrorists. It's not the right department to mess with, for sure.

"Yeah, but it's something new. People haven't seen it a thousand times, you know?" He also has a point. Officials in a lot of places know how to scrutinize an FBI badge because they see them so often. The Department of Homeland Security is new, so people are less likely to notice imperfection. It's like new money; everyone thinks that the new bills are safer when actually, the most counterfeiting takes places right after production of something brand new. People don't know how to check it.

"Anyway, you guys have anything?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," Sam answers, pulling the edited audio up onto the computer screen again. "There's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder. Listen." He plays the tape for Dean, the monster's message clear.

"No survivors?" he repeats with a deep frown. "What does that mean? There were seven survivors."

"No idea," Sam answers him honestly. "So what are we thinking?"

"Haunted flight?" Dean suggests with a shrug.

I nod a little, thinking out loud. "There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships. Like phantom travelers."

"Yeah, or remember that crash with Flight 401?" Sam asks, shifting in his seat like the sudden revelation excited him. I think that excitement over nerdy stuff is one of my favorite things about him, but I'm not going to express that right now. "The plane went down and some of it's parts were salvages and used in other planes. Then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted the other flights. Maybe this is a similar deal."

"Alright," Dean says, picking up one of the copies of the survivor's list. "Which survivor should we talk to first."

"The third one on the list – Max Jaffey," I answer confidently.

"Why him?" Sam asks.

"For one, he's from around here," I answer. "And two…if anyone saw something weird, it was this guy."

Dean turns toward me, frowning. "What makes you say that?"

"I talked to his Mom and she told me where to find him," I tell them. "Max checked himself into a psychiatric hospital in this area after what they're calling a mental breakdown from post traumatic stress." I watch Sam and Dean exchange glances, thinking the same thing I did. Only one of the seven survivors needed to check into a mental health facility. Chances are, something drove him there.

It doesn't take us long to find the Winding Creek Psychiatric Hospital. It's almost disturbingly easy to be introduced to Mr. Jaffey with a quick lie about the guys being from an insurance company and myself a representative from the airline. We're escorted by a guy in all white scrubs out to a very pretty garden area before he lets us go. None of the patients are alone, but all seem happy and serene here.

"I already spoke to the airline and their insurance people," Max says with a small frown.

"Some new information has come up," Sam tells him in that gentle voice that makes people want to talk to him. "So we just need you to answer a couple questions."

Max leads us to a table and sits without asking any of us to do it, so we all sit down anyway. He's definitely a little awkward.

"Before the plane went down," Dean begins. I give him a look for using such an unnecessarily harsh term for it. The guy checked into a hospital after the crash; he's traumatized. Dean winces a little but continues, "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Like…what?" he asks softly. The look on his face tells me that he's definitely seen something.

"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe…voices?" Dean suggests.

Max hesitates for several moments too long before he lies, "No. No nothing." Sam glances over as he shifts in his chair, catching my eye.

I lean forward in my chair. "Mr. Jaffey." He blinks a few times before looking up at me. "You checked yourself in here, right?"

"Well, yeah," he answers. "I was a little stressed; I survived a plane crash, remember?"

"And that's what terrified you?" I push, leaning forward more. "That's what you were afraid of?" I watch his throat work hard, knowing that he's swallowing and knowing that I'm onto something. "Max, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what."

He shakes his head firmly. "No, no I was delusional…seeing things."

"It's okay," I assure him. "So, just tell me what you thought you saw."

Max swallows again and starts glancing around him quickly, making sure no one is near enough to listen. He looks nervous and that makes me even more curious about what he really saw. "There was this man," he begins. "He, um…he had these eyes. Black eyes." I feel my breath catch in my throat; not a spirit. "And I swear I thought I saw him…"

Max looks around again. "He opened the emergency exit door." He laughs, shaking his head at himself. "But that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up; there's something like two tons of pressure on that door."

I take a deep breath. That actually does sound kind of impossible, but there are definitely things that could accomplish it.

"This man," Sam begins. "Did he seem to appear and disappear really rapidly? It would look…something like a mirage?"

Max gives Sam a look like he's crazy and demands, "What are you nuts? He was a passenger; he was sitting right in front of me." Dean immediately shakes his head quickly like he's just been slapped and Sam cocks his head to the side confused.

 _What the hell happened on that plane?_

We quickly thank Max for his time and bail out of the place as quickly as we can. It's not hard to figure out what passenger sat right in front of Max with the flight manifesto, so we get in the car and head for the home of George Phelps.

"Dude, I don't care how strong you are," Dean says in the car. "Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way can you open up one of those doors during the flight."

"Not if you're human," I note.

Sam shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, but in human form."

Dean yanks the car onto the side of the road, points up toward a house across the street and asks, "Does that look like a creatures lair?" The only creature I've ever come across live in sewers or shacks or beds made of bugs. George Phelps lived in a cute little colonial on a tree lined street in the heart of suburbia.

I head inside with Sam while Dean waits in the car. We decide it's not best to overwhelm Phelps' next of kin – his wife. And Dean never misses an opportunity for a short nap. Mrs. Phelps buys our insurance story faster than Max and lets us in, sniffling at the mention of her late husband. She leads us into a living room and Sam stops at the mantle where there are several picture frames. "This was your late husband?"

"Yes," she answers with a slow nod. I know Sam will look over the picture for anything strange but I doubt he'll find it. "That's my George."

"And you said he was a dentist?" I clarify.

Mrs. Phelps nods. "He was headed to a convention in December." She looks down at her hands, full of balled up and disgusting tissues as she continues, "Did you know that he was absolutely terrified to fly? For him to go out that way…" she trails off and shakes her head. That's more than a little unfortunate. I can tell that the fear of flying has been passed onto his wife after his passing.

"How long were you married?"

"Twenty four years," she answers, finally smiling just a little.

"Mrs. Phelps, in all that time…did you ever notice anything strange about George? Anything out of the ordinary?" I ask. If he'd ever been violent or withdrawn or even gone through bouts of alcohol and drugs, it could help us out.

The older woman in front of us just frowns and suggests, "He had acid reflux. Is that what you mean?" It's clear that this isn't going to go anywhere because George's widow doesn't know a thing. Something tells me George was no monster. We thank her, give her our condolences on behalf of the airline, and head back to the Impala where Dean is disturbing the entire neighborhood with Led Zeppelin.

"This just doesn't make any sense," Sam mumbles on our way out. "A middle-aged dentist isn't exactly evil personified."

As we reach the car and yank open the passenger door, making Dean jump in a satisfying way, I tell them, "What we need to do is check out that NTSB warehouse and get a look at the wreckage."

"Well, if we're gonna go that route…we need to look the part."

An hour later we've all purchased suits on someone else's dime. Feds always wear suits, so it's important that we do. I meet the guys out front, feeling pretty good about my choice. Plus, the heels make me feel less like a dwarf around these two. Sam and Dean are standing at the Impala, waiting for me. Sam looks comfortable, the bottom two buttons of his suit undone and the sides behind his forearms so that his hands can rest comfortably in his front pockets. He looks even more well built and my mind flashes to the previous morning when he was in just a towel. Somehow, the suit looks even better than half-naked.

Dean, however, is fidgeting with a scowl on his face and yanking on the tie. "I look like one of the Blues Brothers," he grumbles as I reach them. He actually looks great but his discomfort is just funny.

"No, you don't," Sam assures him.

I'm not about to miss a chance to tease Dean. "You look more like a seventh grader at his first dance," I joke. Sam laughs and pats his brother's shoulder while Dean's scowl only grows.

"I hate this thing," he groans, heading for the driver's seat.

 **…** **1 Hour Later, NTSB Warehouse…**

It's less difficult than I'd feared it would be to gain access to the warehouse where the wreckage lies, all spread out on the floor in the massive space. It looks relatively untouched since it was brought here; of course, I have no idea how an investigation into a place crash goes. We split up, moving slowly and looking for anything out of the ordinary. Much of the wreckage is difficult even to recognize as specific parts, so this isn't going to be easy.

Dean passes me, holding a twisted chunk of plastic with bits of tape attached in his hands and waving it slowly over each piece. "What is that?" I ask him.

"It's an EMF Meter," he answers. "It reads electromagnetic frequencies."

"Yeah, I know what an EMF Meter is," I tell him, a little indignant since that's like day 1 of hunter gear. "But why does that one like a busted up old Walkman."

Dean turns to smile proudly at me. "That's what I made it out of. It's homemade."

I raise my eyebrows and note, "You don't say." Dean doesn't notice my tone with his puffed up chest, clearly proud of his homemade disaster there. It seems functional, though, and I have to admit I find that impressive. I can use one but I never would have tried to build my own. John Winchester definitely taught his sons some unique skills. Of course in Sam's case, the skill might be going for a week without normal sleep and keeping a straight face about it.

A red marking catches my eye. Even burnt and bent, I can tell what I'm looking at and I call to the guys, "Guys. Emergency exit door." Max said that the plane went down because someone opened this door during flight. I kneel in front of it as the guys approach. The handle is basically intact, still attached to the door. It's coated in something strange though; a yellow powder. I touch it with one finger.

"What do you think that stuff is?" Sam asks.

"I don't know but we can take it to Jerry and find out with a microscope," Dean says. We use the end of my knife to scrape some of the yellowish residue into the pocket of my fake ID badge. We decide it's time to bail now that we've got something to work with; the last thing we need is to end up caught impersonating Homeland Security. I'm not even sure regular jail is the norm for that kind of thing.

Instead of going out the way that we came in and passing security again, we find a back exit that'll lead us out into the parking lot. We get no more than ten feet from the door before some Godforsaken alarm goes off, nearly making me jump right out of my skin. There's only one thing for us to assume that alarm is about and the three of us take off running. In a rush of panic and adrenaline, I pump my legs as quickly as I can. "Shit, she's fast," I hear Dean puff from behind me.

I slow and realize that I've really started to leave them behind. That's not me; if they get caught, I don't mind getting caught with them. "Go!" Sam yells.

"I'm going with you," I respond, matching their pace instead as we approach at ten foot gate. I start to climb it but Sam grabs my arm to stop me from climbing further up. He and Dean both slip off their jackets and toss them up, onto the top of gate to cover the barbs at the top. Sam motions for me to climb ahead of him and I do, easily surpassing Dean up to the top and over, landing as softly as I can on the other side. Sam scrambles up quickly with his long legs and arm, getting himself over in a few quick steps and landing beside me.

The guys snag their jackets and we start running, knowing that with distance from the building is safety, and the Impala isn't parked far away. "These monkey suits do come in handy," Dean notes, making me laugh while we keep running. We reach the Impala and pile in. I don't waste time getting to the back and just slide across the front bench seats instead, Sam and Dean sitting on either side of me. He turns the engine and slams his foot on the gas, yanking the car to the left out of the parking lot so quickly that I end up slamming into Sam's side while he hits the door.

"Jesus, Dean," I groan, trying to right myself in the seats again. He ignores me and we drive back to Jerry quickly, giving him the sample.

It only takes Jerry a moment under the microscope. "This is covered in sulfur," he tells us. "Where did you find it?"

My stomach plummets. There might not be a lot of hunters that deal with this particular kind of bad, because they tend to keep out of the way, but when you grow up with a Pastor things are a little different. I know what we're dealing with. "Are you sure?" I ask.

"It's not hard to tell," Jerry says with a shrug. "Yellow, smelly." I know that; I should have realized this. I should have known and I should have known this would be bigger than what we've faced before. "That piece of shit," Jerry growls, looking behind us and outside the office. "Excuse me; I have an idiot to fire." He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

"What the hell?" Dean mumbles.

"There aren't a lot of things that leave behind sulfuric residue," I tell them, shaking my head a little and leaning on the desk. I'm full of anxiety about this now.

Sam narrows his eyes at me a little before he asks, "Are you thinking it's a demonic possession?"

"It would explain how a mortal man had the strength to open up an emergency hatch," I note with a small shrug of my shoulders. I'd really like to be wrong.

"Shit," Dean breathes. "Doesn't this go way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup? I mean, it's one thing to possess a person but to use them to take down an entire plane?" He looks between Sam and I. "Have you ever heard of anything like this before?"

"Never," Sam answers.

I shake my head slowly, knowing that I've seen something before. "I need to get back to the hotel and do some research," I tell them moving for the door. We leave without touching base with Jerry because I feel like we need to hurry for some reason.

 **…** **Half Hour Later, Motel…**

"Okay here," I say, finally stumbling across something. "So according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another disease."

"And…this one causes plane crashes?" Dean asks, frowning deeply.

"A demon that's evolved with the times," Sam says thoughtfully. "It's not that hard to believe, really. It found a way to up the body count."

Dean thinks that over for a second before he breathes, "Who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?" He's got a point and it's a crappy thought.

I take a breath. "Guys, this is not our normal gig. I mean, demons…they don't want anything but death and destruction for its own sake." I shake my head. "This is big."

Sam sits down hard in the chair next to me and Dean throws himself down on one of the beds. "I wish Dad was here," I hear Dean grown softly through the arm covering half of his face. I nod, unable to agree even though Sam is watching me and I'm not sure what he's going to think of this. I don't want Sam to think I'm betraying him but this is a time when a guy like John Winchester would be really, really nice to have around.

"Me too," he breathes finally. I raise my eyebrows at him and he gives me a little shrug. At least in the face of a demon he can see reason. Dean's phone starts ringing and he answers, putting the call on speaker.

"Hey Jerry, what's up?" he asks.

"My pilot friend, Chuck Lambert," Jerry begins, his voice sad. "He's dead." Dean immediately sits up and I lean forward, Sam turning toward him. Chuck Lambert was the pilot on the plane that went down; one of only six survivors.

"Jerry, I'm sorry," Dean says. "What happened?"

"He and a friend went up in a small twin engine," he answers. "About an hour ago, the plane went down."

"Where?"

I hear Jerry take a breath. "About 20 miles east of here; Nazareth." Dean makes a face and I know he's mentally commenting on the irony there. I'm just glad he doesn't tell Jerry.

Sam tells him, "Jerry, we're gonna check it out and we'll catch up with you soon. Just…hang in there, OK?" It's easy to see that we need to check out the plane crash in Nazareth, but we also need to figure out what else is happening here. Dean quickly calls Jerry back at my request and asks him to send all the information he has on the flight. While they head off to Nazareth, I stay and do some more research.

Immediately after they leave, I consider calling Jim for advice or direction. Before I can pick up the phone I hear the Pastor's words in my head, during the many times when I've lost my temper, my way, or my mind. I have to take a breath, think of the right angle…a different angle. Demons work with no real rhyme or reason, so there shouldn't be a point in trying to figure out why.

Still…why has this pilot been involved in two plane crashes now? At first glance he might seem like the most unlucky person in the world – but everyone knows that good Christians don't believe in luck. If it's not luck, something has to be connecting the first flight, the second, and Chuck. I dive into the flight manifestos, barely blinking until I think I've found something.

It's been over an hour and, just on time, the hotel room door swings open as Dean struts in with Sam a few steps behind him. "You'll never guess what we found," Dean says, sitting down on the bed. Sam sits across from me again.

"Twenty bucks on sulfur," I say quickly.

"I'll buy ya burger as a fair trade," Dean offers, smirking at me.

"Done deal." For once, it's Sam's turn to roll his eyes at us and it makes me laugh.

"Back on the topic of work instead of burgers," Sam says, still smiling at my laugh. "This is two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. It sounds like that demon was after him."

I shake my head, gathering my notes. "With all due respect to your friend's friend, if the demon was after Chuck that would be the good news."

"Then what's the bad news?" Dean asks, frowning at me.

"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight," I answer. "So did Flight 2485."

"Biblical numerology," Sam mutters. I raise my eyes, impressed that he picked up that connection off the top of his head. Dean looks confused so Sam explains, "You know, Noah's Ark…rained for forty days. The number means deaths."

"Anyway I went back," I continue. "There have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes into the flight."

"My turn to guess," Dean chimes in, raising his hand. "No survivors."

"Not until Flight 2485," I finish. "And remember what the EVP on the cockpit recorder said? 'No survivors'."

I watch the realization flash over Sam and Dean's faces. "It's going after all the survivors," Dean says, speaking the words I haven't yet. "It wants to finish the job."

"We have the survivor's list," Sam remembers it, moving quickly to grab it from among the papers spread over the small table. "We need to find out if any of these people are planning on flying anytime soon."

"I'd say that sounds ridiculous if Chuck hadn't already gone up and back down," Dean notes. I can't help but agree with him. Who the hell would get back onto a plane this soon after a crash?

Sam jumps up so suddenly that it makes me jump, too. "Chuck got back on a plane because he did it for a living, and if they all make that a habit…we have a big problem." He hands the list over to me, pointing. "Amanda Walker; she's a flight attendant."

 _We cannot let Amanda Walker get on another plane – ever._

 **…** **Indianapolis…**

It's minutes before we all jump into the Impala and onto the road, even though it's a long shot. We had the number to Amanda's house where her sister, Karen, answered and told us that Amanda was flying tonight. Tonight will be her first night back on the job with a flight leaving out of Indianapolis and even with a long shot – four hours to make a five hour trip – we know that we have to try.

"Call Amanda's cellphone again," Dean says as we start seeing signs for the airport. "We have to try to head her off at the pass." I'm anxious but he's been getting more and more jumpy the closer we get.

"I already left her three voicemails," Sam tells him. "She must have turned her cellphone off."

"We're going to make it," I assure them. "We can at least catch the flight."

"Dammit, I knew you were going to say that!" Dean shouts, smacking the steering wheel. "I knew that's what the two of you were planning because you're both damn crazy."

"What the hell is your problem?" I ask him confused. "You're usually the first one to run into a fire."

"Yes, but planes actually come down hard and on fire!" he snaps back at me.

I laugh because I can't help it. "You're afraid of flying? You're kidding me, right?" This is a guy with a trunk full of weapons to kill literally everything we might come across. Sam is laughing as well which tells me he had no idea about this.

"Why the hell do you think I drive everywhere?" he demands.

"Okay, okay!" I say, putting up my hands. "It would have cost more to get three tickets anyway. Besides, Sam and I both speak Latin so we can handle an exorcism."

"No one should be getting on a plane that's destined to crash!" Dean protests, looking at me through the rearview mirror like he'd kill me if he could.

"You know, maybe that's another reason one of us shouldn't get on," Sam notes, raising his eyebrows. "If we don't get this done and something bad happens, one of us needs to make it. Someone has to find dad still." Dean is quiet so after a pause Sam pushes him, "Right, Dean?"

He says nothing and I don't interrupt his silence, letting him think this over. Dean will come to the right conclusion here and there is really only one right conclusion. "Plane is supposed to land in Atlanta," he says, parking right in front of the doors for passenger drop-off. "In the interest of positive thinking, I'm gonna start driving down that way. I'll make it sometime in the morning and you sons of bitches will already be there, waiting for me. Do you understand?"

I lean over the seat and press my lips to Dean's cheek, feeling the sharp stubble scratch me but not caring. He laughs and reaches up with one hand to yank on my ponytail. Sam just gives him that all knowing smile and pats his shoulder before climbing out, letting me do the same. He tears off instead of watching us go inside. Armed with a Bible, some Holy Water and a base knowledge of Latin…we have to take out our first demon.

 **…** **2 Hours Later, Atlanta…**

It might make me even more a freak than we already thought, but there is definitely no rush quite like exorcising a demon at 30,000 feet while your plane is careening out of control. The plan didn't go exactly the way we might have like it to but hey, one demon was sent back to hell and not a single human died. Plus…it was damn exciting!

With adrenaline coursing through us, Sam and I decide to walk it off on the way to a motel. Dean is on his way but won't make it for another six or seven hours, so we're getting a room and spending the night here. I've never been to Atlanta before but I can't say I have a lot of interest in seeing it right now. I want to take a hot shower, call Jim to tell him how awesome we are, and hang out with Sam.

 _Hanging out with Sam might be the real priority._

He was pretty great on the plane, I have to give it to him. As it started to take off, I think we both realized the gravity of the situation – pun intended. We managed to keep mostly calm and even when a demon nearly kicked his ass, Sam kept his head on. If he hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been able to physically control it. If I hadn't been there, Sam never would have been able to fight him and get the exorcism done. We made a great team tonight.

I tell Jim the whole story while Sam is in bed. He doesn't share my enthusiasm and seems more than a little concerned that I got on a plane a demon wanted to take down. Still, he's proud of me and he says it. We saved a lot of people, judging by this demon's pension for big death tolls. He sounds like he's doing well, but hearing his voice makes me a little homesick. I've spent more time with Jim than anyone else in my whole life, and haven't seen him in nearly a couple months now. It's tough but I couldn't exactly stay in the church's basement my whole life. I've got a job to do and it feels good to be doing it.

Still, it'll never be easy to hang up with Jim and not know when – or if – I'll see him again.

"You okay?" Sam's voice calls gently from behind me, startling me just a little.

I turn to give him an assuring smile but it falters when I find him in just a towel, gathering his clothing. This has always been his way of getting organized and dressed after a shower but I find myself becoming more and more aware of him…and the way water drips from his hair down his chest and abs. My mouth goes dry and I swallow, focusing on his face – not much better for focusing, really.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I finally manage. "I was just catching up with Jim."

"He's doing OK?"

I laugh and note, "He might have had a minor heart attack when I told him how we got to Atlanta, but yeah he's good." Sam laughs before disappearing back into the bathroom.

"Do you miss him?"

"I mean, yeah, of course I do," I answer, shrugging even though he can't see me shrug. "Jim's the only family I've ever had. You're gonna tell me you did miss Dean when you went to college?"

Sam laughs. "Yeah, I really missed the guy who entertained himself by pranking me and giving me shit for not being a better son." His voice is full of sarcasm but I roll my eyes because I've seen him around Dean; they're closer and care more for one another then they want to let on. I'm sure Sam had trouble leaving him behind for Stanford.

Sam comes out of the bathroom and casually tosses himself down on the bed beside me. I can't hide my smile. "You want dinner or movie deciding duty?"

"Hmm," he says, frowning like contemplating a truly difficult decision. His face makes me laugh and he smiles when answering, "I'll pick the movie. Your taste in food is better."

"It's not my fault you like that weird chick flick crap and I like the movies real people enjoy," I tease him.

"Yeah, well it freaks me out that you share my brother's taste in all things pop culture." I laugh loudly now and shove his shoulder playfully before moving toward the desk where the motel has a list of nearby restaurants. Soon, we're eating an extra large pizza with mushrooms, sausage, pepperoni, peppers, and onions while watching Goodfellas.

As it always goes when we're just relaxing, not working, Sam and I fall into a comfortable rhythm. I'm at ease around him which is really saying something for me; I spent literally all of my time growing up avoiding people. I'm so antisocial that when my high school burnt down, no one had a problem with pointing the finger at me. But with Sam, I can relax. I've always assumed that people I was attracted to would be even harder to understand or get along with. Instead, the hottest guy I've ever met – and probably the best, too – is the easiest person for me to be around. Plus, he always smells so damn good.

After the movie and eating much more pizza than either of us should have been able to, we decide to call it a night. With the adrenaline rush coming down hard, we're both crashing and I know I'm exhausted. I crawl into one of the beds, Sam in the other, and we say goodnight. It's only a minute before I hear his breathing slow and have to smile, glad he's finally getting some sleep.

That's interrupted much soon than I want it to be, though. Before I can manage to sink into my own sleep, the sound of Sam tossing around on the squeaky mattress catches my ear. I sit up a little and turn to see him. Even in the dim, pale yellow glow from the lights outside our curtained hotel window, I can see a sweaty sheen on his forehead and a look of distress on his face. He groans and tosses again, flopping onto his other side.

 _Another nightmare…someone has to help the guy out._

I move without really thinking it through and before I realize what I'm doing, I slide into bed beside Sam and under his blanket. Before the panic can overcome me and I convince myself to run, I reach over and wrap an arm around Sam. While it's awkward to spoon someone so much larger than myself, it feels surprisingly natural to fit my arms around his neck and hug his back firmly to my front.

"You're OK," I whisper as a tremor rocks him.

"Kenzie," he breathes, waking suddenly and reaching a hand up to grab my forearm.

"I'm here," I tell him softly, using my free hand to brush his hair back toward me. "It was just a nightmare; you're OK." His erratic breathing starts to slow and I feel him press further into me. He's the perfect temperature.

"Can you stay here?" he asks, a bit of guilt and maybe even shame breaking through his emotional tone. "I just really, really want to sleep."

"Shh, it's fine," I assure him. "I'm right here, I'll stay. Sleep, Sam." I let my own head fall on the pillow and try to keep my breathing as slow and calm as possible. Sam never moves, remaining inside my arms as my little spoon and holding onto my wrist. I fall asleep soon after his soft snore starts to fill the room and, finally, no one is awoken by nightmares.


	5. 1x5: Bloody Mary

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who is reading/following/favoriting. I'd really love your reviews - good or - bad to give me any tips or encouragement you might have. I'm hoping that you love Kenzie as much as I do - she's got a lot left to learn, to reveal, and to conquer. 3**

Sam starts squirming around in the front seat an hour after falling asleep on the road. I immediately start to feel guilty. He's actually – finally – began sleeping again when we figured out nightmares went away if he shares a bed with someone. Dean hasn't volunteered, so Sam ends up squeezing into my bed or dragging me into his every night. Sometimes he needs to be held, sometimes he just wants to hold my hand, and sometimes he even holds me.

 _Those are my favorite nights, but I'll never tell him that._

Right now, coming off of a really long night of hunting a vengeful spirit in Nebraska and very little sleep, I'm in the back seat and unable to protect Sam from his dreams. I know it shouldn't matter to me as much as it does but my heart aches for him.

"Does he talk to you about them or just use you as a teddy bear?" Dean asks me, the hostility evident in his voice and surprising.

"Well, excuse me!" I respond. "Are you jealous?"

"Shut up," he snaps, more playfully this time. "Seriously. Is he still dreaming about Jessica?"

I glance at Sam, wondering if he'd be upset that I told Dean. The older brother has trouble drawing the line between taking care of the younger and letting a 23 year old guy take care of himself. Still, Dean has a right to know since we all depend so heavily on one another. I wish Sam would open up to him more anyway.

"Sometimes it's still Jessica," I answer. Sam and I do talk about it, usually in whispers and in the middle of the night when he's afraid to sleep. "But he says it's the job in general, too. He's still sensitive to all of it – the death and the gore and…the scary parts."

Sam groans, beginning to sweat from his nightmare. "I get that," Dean breathes.

"Really? Because he hasn't told you for fear you'd make fun of him," I tell him honestly, raising my eyebrows at Dean.

"He's probably right," Dean admits with a little chuckle. I flick him in the back of his head which only makes him laugh harder. Sam groans again. "I much prefer when he's snuggling with you and not freaking out, for the record." I agree, but keep it to myself.

Sam's nightmare is reaching peak, and he trashes an arm out. Dean decides it's time to step in and, without warning, punches Sam hard in the arm. I roll my eyes as Sam sits up straight, his eyes flying open while he breathes a little rapidly. After a pause he seems to remember the pain in his shoulder and holds it while he demands, "What the hell, dude?"

"You were having a nightmare," Dean tells him. "Again."

"Oh, sorry," he breathes, looking out the window. "You shouldn't have let me fall asleep."

"Are we ever going to talk about these dreams?" Dean presses.

Sam ignores him. "Are we here?"

"Yup," I answer. "Toledo, Ohio…the armpit of the country." Dean laughs but Sam is somewhere else. I have an nearly painful urge to hug him, try to make him feel better. I can always make him feel better from the nightmares; at least that's what he tells me. It'd be tough to hug him over the seat so I reach out instead and grasp his shoulder in what I hope is a comforting move. Sam covers my hand with his and gives a little squeeze. I can see that he's smiling when without seeing his whole face.

Now we can get down to business. "Anyone have a theory on what really happened to this guy?" I ask.

"The newspapers were too vague," Sam says with a quick shake of his head. "They made it sound pretty gruesome, though."

"Yeah, _too_ vague," Dean agrees. "Papers only keep stuff out if they can't explain what happened, and I'm gonna doubt that the sleepover group did him in." He's got a point.

When Sam found an article online about a guy who died three days ago, in his home and during his daughter's sleepover, we were only mildly interested. The idea of a normal guy's eyes bleeding until he dies is pretty unnatural, though. Most of the case facts are hidden as well, which is rare with the access of media today, so we decide it's worth a trip to find out what happened to Mr. Shoemaker in Toledo, Ohio.

We're starting in the morgue for a look at this body and our plan going in is simple. The desk at the office of the Medical Examiner is manned by a twenty-something guy who should probably spend more time outside and active. He couldn't look more unpleasant or disinterested and gives us a rather rude glance when he asks, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, we're the med students," Sam answers casually as the three of us approach the desk expectantly.

The guy raises his eyebrows, seemingly unconcerned that he doesn't know us, and asks, "Sorry?"

"Oh…Dr. Fliglavitch didn't tell you?" Dean asks, lying as only Dean Winchester can lie. "We talked to him on the phone. We're from Ohio State and he's supposed to show us to Shoemaker corpse."

The little twerp at the desk blinks and, emotionless, says, "He's at lunch." Then he looks back down at the papers on his desk. I can feel the heat threaten to spark my short fuse and take a breath quietly.

"You know, it doesn't matter who does it," Sam begins. He puts on a charming smile and asks, "You wouldn't mind showing us, would you?"

The guy never even looks up to see Sam's smile before he answers, "Sorry, I can't." Something tells me he's not even a little bit sorry. "Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait if you want?"

"We have to be getting back to Columbus, though," Sam tells him. No response, no reaction.

Dean sighs his frustrated sigh and puts his palms down on the end of the desk, leaning over toward the guy. "Look, man. This paper is half of our grade. So…if you could help us out…?"

"Look, man," he responds, looking up at Dean and obviously mocking him. "No."

Dean stands up quickly and announces, "I'm gonna hit him in his face." Finally, there's a reaction on the other guy's face and it's pretty much fear. As much as I kind of want Dean to hit him, I know there's an easier way so I step forward.

"Hang on." I slip my hand casually into Dean's back pocket, sliding his wallet out so quickly and smoothly that when he sees it in my hand, he looks backward into his pocket in surprise.

"Mack! I earned that money," he protests, realizing my game. The guy at the desk realizes my game as well and he looks much happier about it.

Sam smacks Dean's arm and corrects him, "You won it in a poker game."

I ignore Dean and pull out a fifty, folding it in half around my index finger and handing it out to the guy who deserves a punch in the mouth. "Fifty for the dead guy. Good?"

Minutes later, we're standing in front of the corpse of George Shumaker uncovered from the waist up. His eyes are neither open nor closed; two black holes with rigid, nasty edges sit where his eyes should be. He looks otherwise unharmed – save for those nasty autopsy scars. "The newspaper said the daughter found him?" Sam clarifies. "She said his eyes were bleeding."

"More than that," Twerp answers. He's much more enthusiastic about this now that he's been paid. "They practically liquefied."

 _There's an image I definitely didn't need._

"Any sign of a struggle?" Sam asks, looking at Shoemaker's arms for defensive wounds. "Maybe someone did this to him?"

Twerp shakes his head. "Nope. Beside the daughters, he was alone."

"So what's the official cause of death?" I ask.

"Doc's not sure yet," he answers with a shrug. "He's thinking massive stroke or maybe an aneurysm. Something burst up in there, that's for sure."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks. I'm not sure I want the answer.

"Intense cerebral bleeding," Twerp answers, barely containing his excitement about it. Weird guy. "This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen."

"OK, but the eyes," Dean says, leaning closer to the corpse than I plan on getting. "What would cause something like that?"

"Capillaries can bust," Twerp says. "I've seen stroke victims with bloodshot eyes."

"Yeah, but have you ever seen exploding eyeballs?" I ask, unable to keep the grimace off of my face.

Twerp shakes his head. "Definitely a first for me."

"Do you think we could take a look at the police report?" Sam asks. "It might really help us out with our paper."

Twerp glances at Dean, then me. "Well…I'm really not supposed to show you that." His intention is clear and Dean shoots daggers at me with his own, perfectly healthy green eyes.

With the jerk who mans the desk at the morgue possessing another fifty that belonged to a biker before Dean swindled him, we leave with the police and coroner's reports in hand. It's entirely unhelpful; nothing is giving us a clue as to what happened to George Shoemaker. "You know, maybe this isn't our kind of thing," Sam notes. "Maybe it is just a freak medical thing."

"How many times in our whole lives, watching Dad's long and varied career, has it ever been just a freak medical thing?" Dean retorts, frowning at his younger brother. Sam looks down, chastised. I'm sure I know the answer going through Sam's head – never. If something looks unnatural, it's usually supernatural.

"We need to go talk to the daughter," I announce, aware that we're already using our last avenue here. Hopefully she has something or we might be forced to chalk this one up to a massive, eyeball liquefying stroke.

 **…** **Half Hour Later, Shoemaker Home…**

If we'd known that the Shoemaker's were having some kind of memorial service for George today, we'd would have waited. Once at the house, though, it would be a waste to leave. Besides, someone else may have seen or heard something useful. "I feel underdressed," I admit, tugging on my black jacket and wishing we'd stopped to change so that we could match the Sunday best of those around us.

"You look good," Sam says, glancing down at my. I raise my eyebrows at him in surprise because I'm not sure either of them has ever complimented me before. Sam doesn't notice my expression though, because Dean snickers and earns his own punch in the arm. I roll my eyes and chalk the comment up to Sam being nice.

 _Anything else would just be too crazy to hope for._

The two daughters are relatively easy to find, sitting in the backyard of the large home. They're surrounded by other girls, consoling them. The older sister, Donna, notices us approaching and stands. She assumes we're coming to pay respects, so we might as well. "You're Donna, right?" I ask, reaching her first. She nods. "I'm Kenzie, this is Sam and Dean. We worked with your dad."

"You did?" Donna looks surprised, I assume for our ages.

"Yeah," Sam answers. "We're really sorry for your loss." Sam has the consolation voice down better than anyone I've ever heard. He talks to people in this soft, sad way that makes everyone want to spill their guts to him. I've seen it work a dozen times and I'm always impressed. Plus, he doesn't practice at it. He's just…a sweet guy.

Dean shakes his head slowly as Donna thanks us. "This whole thing really took us by surprise," he begins. "I mean, a stroke?"

"I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now." One of Donna's friends, a blonde girl, stands and touches her friends arms. She's giving us a suspicious look but I ignore it. These girls are my age and girls my age are pretty much just stupid.

"It's okay, really," Donna assures her friends and us. "Us, too, actually. There were never any of the usual symptoms; the dizziness or migraines…nothing."

"That's because it wasn't a stroke," a small voice announces from her seat on the stone bench behind Donna.

Donna turns to the girl and says in a kind but firm voice, "Lily, don't say that." Lily Shoemaker is the younger daughter; she'd been having the sleepover when her dad died – or was killed. Donna turns back to us and offers, "Sorry; she's upset."

"No, it happened because of me!" Lily says, visibly losing control as her hands start shaking in her lap. She looks sad but also terrified. This girl definitely saw something.

"Sweeties, it didn't," Donna tells her gently.

I need to know. "Lily, why would think that?" I keep my tone light and just concerned; it wouldn't look good to interrogate the kid. But I can be worried about her.

"Right before he died…I said it," she tells us, voice somber and serious.

"Said what?" Dean asks.

"Bloody Mary," the little girl explains. "Three times in the bathroom mirror." She sniffs back a sob and cries, "She took his eyes; that's what she does!" Lily starts to sob and Donna goes to her, wrapping her arms around her younger sister.

"It's not your fault," she tells her.

"I think your sister is right, Lily," I assure her. "There's no way it could have been Blood Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?" Everyone knows the legends and this one is not adding up, so I need to be sure. As expected, Lily shakes her head and takes a breath like she's trying to believe me. If George didn't say it, then why did Mary come after him?

We give our condolences to Donna and Lily again before pretending to leave. Everyone is preoccupied so it's easy to slip upstairs and into the hallway bathroom where George's body was found. "You've read Dad's whole journal," Dean says, nudging me while he pulls out his homemade EMF reader. "Did he ever find evidence it was real?"

"Not that he wrote about," I answer. "And it wouldn't make sense. All over country, kids play Bloody Mary." I notice Sam glance into the mirror, nervous at the mention of the name. I ignore it and continue, "We've never heard of people dying from it."

"What if everywhere else it is just a legend, but here it's really happening?" Sam suggests while we all look for a sign of anything out of place or weird. The EMF remains quiet.

"You think it's possible the legend began here?" Dean clarifies.

"It still wouldn't add up," I note. "In the legend, the person who says – " Sam gives me a wide-eyed look, knowing that I was about to say her name for a second time. I continue instead with "You-know-who's name gets it. But here…the dad died instead."

"Yeah, you're right," Sam sighs even as he glances at the mirror again.

"Still, he did die right in front of a mirror," Dean tells us, standing up straight and looking into the same mirror. "And the daughter's right; you-know-who scratches your eyes out."

"It's definitely worth checking into," I agree. There's no such thing as coincidences, so I'm sure that something bad happened to George Shoemaker. Since the EMF is quiet and the bathroom is clean, we head back into the hallway.

I nearly crash into the blonde who'd defended Donna downstairs. "What are you doing up here?" she demands, arms crossed in front of her chest.

"We had to go to the bathroom?" Dean answers stupidly. Three adults going to the bathroom together; that's only normal with sorority girls and we just don't fit that mold.

Blonde girl narrows her eyes and asks, "Who are you?"

"Like we said downstairs, we work with Donna's dad," Sam answers. Until we know she's onto us, it's better to stick with the same lie. Most people back down as long as your story doesn't change.

"Donna's dad was like a day trader or something; he worked alone," Blonde Girl informs us. I want to smack the cocky off of her face but I kind of like her persistence, too. "And those weird questions downstairs; what the hell was that? So you tell me what's going on right now or I start screaming."

"Oh, just shut up," I tell her firmly, grasping her elbow and pulling her back into the bathroom. We don't need anyone else to hear the conversation. Sam and Dean stand in front of the door and Blonde Girl's cockiness fades into fear. "We think something happened to Donna's dad."

The girl swallows and says, "Yeah…a stroke."

"Nothing about this looks like a stroke," I reply. "We think it might be something else."

Her eyes go wide and she glances around the bathroom quickly before asking in a stage whisper, "Like what?"

I shake my head. "Honestly, we don't know. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth. So if you're gonna scream and stop us from helping, go for it."

Under the challenge, Blonde Girl wavers. "Who are you? Cops?"

"Something like that." I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket and pull out a card with just a cell phone number on it. "If you think of anything, if you or your friends notice anything out of the ordinary…call." I don't give her a chance to respond or annoy me with more questions before I leave the bathroom and march back down the hall.

The guys follow me outside where Dean laughs and teases, "You have terrible people skills."

"I hate teenaged girls," I tell him.

"You are a teenaged girl," Sam reminds me, giving me his adorable, playful smile.

I fake a glare up at him and joke, "That's the meanest thing you've ever said to me." Both guys laugh and we get into the Impala. Sam is behind the driver's wheel this time and brings us to the county library quickly.

"Why are we here?" Dean asks with a groan. He hates research the way I hate getting my socks wet but with him, it makes me laugh.

"If Bloody Mary really is haunting this town, there's going to be some kind of proof," Sam says.

"A local woman who died nasty?" Dean clarified.

"Yeah, but with a legend this widespread, it'll be harder," Sam answers. "There are like fifty versions of who she actually is. One says a witch, another a mutilated bride, and a lot more."

We step inside the library and stop, looking around. "So what should we be looking for?" Dean asks.

I follow Sam back toward the computers and tell him, "Every version of the legend has two things in common. It's always a woman named Mary and she always dies in front of a mirror." We reach the computers and I sit down in between Sam and Dean. "So we search public records, local newspapers, everything back as far as we can go. We need to find a Mary who can fit the bill."

"That sounds annoying," Dean notes, grimacing.

"It won't be that bad," Sam argues. I've pushed the power button my monitor twice now with no effect. Sam is trying the same and as I smack the screen in frustration, he leans under the desk. "I take it back," he announces, sitting up and holding a handwritten sign that had been taped to the computer tower. They're broken. "This will be very annoying."

 **…** **5 Hours Later…**

I run my fingers through Sam's hair, dragging the tips over his scalp. He's been sound asleep beside me for nearly an hour and hasn't moved, so I'm hoping I'm helping to keep the dreams at bay. Nothing can keep Dean at bay though, and when he slams another box down on the table, Sam jumps and wakes immediately. My hand falls away as he sits taller than me and looks around. "Why did you let me fall asleep?" he asks again.

"You didn't have a nightmare," I remind him. "You just have an ass as a brother."

"Have we found anything?" he groans.

Dean answers, "Besides a whole new level of frustration? Nothing." He sits down into a chair hard and continues, "We've looked through everything. A few local woman – Laura and Catherine – committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on some dude named Dave. A few other weird ones, but no Mary."

"Maybe we just haven't found it yet," Sam says, pulling a stack of newspapers toward him.

"I've been looking at strange deaths in the area, too," I tell them. "You know, eyeball bleeding or that sort of thing. There's nothing."

Dean shrugs. "Maybe whatever is happening around here, it's just not Mary."

My cell phone rings in my jacket pocket and I pull it out. I don't recognize the number on the caller ID but since the only numbers I have saved are Dean, Sam, and Jim, that doesn't surprise me. Still, I know Jim is giving out my number to people who might call him for help so I answer. "Hello?"

"Kenzie? Is this Kenzie?" the female voice on the other end sobs.

"Yes, it is," I answer, frowning and unsure how to continue.

"This is Rachel, we met at Donna's earlier today and you told me to call." Her voice breaks off, trembling as she sniffs on the other end. It's Blonde Girl and she's obviously upset.

"Rachel, what happened?" I demand. "Are you OK?" She annoyed the hell out of me but I don't want Mary or whatever after her next.

"I need you guys to meet me," she says, trying to sound firm. "Can you meet me at the high school?" We passed that on the way from Donna's to the library so I agree and promise to be there in a minute. I hang up and start moving, explaining to the guys on the way. Dean drives so we get to the high school in no time. Before we can get out of the car, Rachel is running over. Sam jumps into the back seat with me so she can take the front and we stay in the car, parked in the parking lot of the high school, while she tries to keep it together to tell us a story.

Her friend Jill is dead. They'd been talking on the phone while Rachel was driving home last night and apparently Jill thought it would be funny to play Blood Mary on the phone. Rachel got a call from Jill's dad, making the rounds to her friends and notify everyone that Jill was found dead an hour ago. Her family is at the hospital, but she's long gone.

"They found her on the bathroom floor," Rachel sniffs. "And her…her eyes. I asked her Dad if it was her eyes and he said they were gone." I blink and glance at Sam who I'm sure is wearing the same expression. "She said it. I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that." Rachel looks around at all of us and demands, "I'm insane, right?"

"No, you're not insane," Dean assures her.

"That makes me feel so much worse," she responds. At least her response to that is natural. I'd rather be crazy than believe most of what I know to be true, nonetheless have to face it. Rubber rooms are nice, I bet.

"Look, Rachel," Sam begins. "Something that we can't explain is happening here. We can stop it, but we're gonna need your help."

I know where he's going and explain to Rachel, "We need to see Jill's bathroom." There has to be something there, something that we missed last time. It's very late but Jill assures us that her parents are in the hospital and she knows where the extra key is hidden on the porch. The house is unguarded by alarm but we keep the lights off on our way up the stairs. Jill has a private bathroom, attached to her bedroom. There's a massive puddle of blood on the floor and splatter on the mirror, but nothing else; there's no sign she was attacked. The lack of light is irrelevant because this time we're searching with black lights and night vision goggles, trying to find something different than the whole lot of nothing we found at the Shoemaker house.

"I can't believe we broke in here," Rachel mutters from the bedroom where we asked her to stay.

"It's for the greater good," I deadpan even though it's true.

Sam puts on the only pair of night vision goggles. We ignore her and I push the button on the side to turn them on. Dean immediately grabs Sam's shoulders, pulls him close, and asks, "Do I look like Paris Hilton?"

Sam scoffs and shoves him away while I just roll my eyes and turn on the black light, moving it over the wall near the mirror while Dean starts in the shower. "What are you guys looking for?" Dean asks.

"We'll know as soon as we find it," Sam answers vaguely. The truth is we're looking for anything, anything at all that just doesn't fit.

"I don't get it," Dean notes. "The first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second one did. How is she choosing them?"

"Beats me," I answer. I shoot a glance toward Rachel, visible from the flashlight she's holding and add, "I just want to know why she said it in the first place."

I can see and hear Rachel's guilt. "It was a joke."

"Somebody's gonna say it again," Dean observes. "It's really only a matter of time."

I approach the mirror slowly, being extra cautious since this is where Mary would have been summoned. I refuse to make eye contact with my reflection, but I can't explain why I don't want to. This whole thing is a little unnerving. Something in the bottom corner of the mirror catches my eye; it looks like finger slipped across the glass and around to the back. I open the door of the medicine cabinet and look at the inside, the back of the mirror. The black light finds the something we were looking for.

"Look at this," I tell the guys, shining my black light over the name. Sam and Dean come behind me to look as well. "Rachel, do you know who Gary Bryman is?"

"No idea," she answers. "Why?"

Sam moves quickly, into the bedroom and over to Jill's computer. It's already on so it only takes him a second to run a Google search on that name. "Gary Bryman was an eight year old boy," he tells us as I stand behind him from a look. "Two years ago, he was killed by a car in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry, but no one saw the plates or the driver."

"Oh my God," Rachel breathes from behind us. I turn to find her face ashen. "Jill drove a black Toyota Camry, two years ago in our sophomore year. She said she hit a deer and got rid of it."

Jill, Mary's second victim in this town, killed someone. There's really only one thing to do now. "We need to get back to your friend Donna's house," I tell her urgently.

"Donna and Lily are staying with their grandmother," Rachel tells us, standing up even though I can tell she's shaking a little. "The house is empty."

It only takes us a couple of minutes to get to the Shoemaker's house and pull down the mirror where George would have died. On the back, the black light shows us a name. This time, it's Linda Shoemaker.

 **…** **Next Morning…**

We split up for the night, letting Rachel get some rest and trying to get some of our own. I draw the short straw and end up on the couch which isn't as bad as some of the other couches we've found in motels. I've barely drifted off when I'm woken up, the couch cushions beside me shifting. I look over my shoulder to find Sam, wearing only sweatpants.

He doesn't say a word and only pulls the blanket off of me as much as he has to in order to slide himself onto the couch behind me. I fit much better as the little spoon and find my cocooned in strong, warm arms. His bicep is extraordinarily comfortable, and I'm oddly relaxed with his hand on my stomach and our close proximity. I've never cuddled – ever – until a couple of weeks ago. The first time Sam held my hand on a job, I nearly had a panic attack. Now, it only takes me seconds to fall asleep in his arms.

In the morning, I wake up alone. Sam usually gets up before me so I'm not particularly surprised. I start to roll over until I hear Dean say, "You know if you had any backbone or sense, you'd take her out to dinner or something."

I frown, wondering if they're talking about me. The hushed voices make it a little suspicious. "Dean, we're together all the time," Sam responds. "It'd just be cheesy to take her out…like on a date."

"Why? Don't you want to?" My stomach knots up, unsure if I'm prepared to hear the answer to this. I've come to terms with the fact that I've been crushing on Sam Winchester. There's a part of me that wants to believe it might be mutual, but too much of me that's never seen good things happen to really buy it.

"She helps with the nightmares," Sam tells his brother. "It'd be stupid to pretend that it's anything else."

Stupid. Apparently, it would be stupid to take his brother's advice and stupid to actually want to spend time with me. It's stupid for me to have even entertained the thought that Sam wanted anything more from me than relief from his nightmares.

I stretch, giving the guys a warning, before rolling over. I stare up at the weird, water-stained ceiling instead of looking at them. When Dean calls, "Good morning," I just wave in response.

I stand up, grab my towel, and head for the bathroom. "Ten minutes, then we can leave." I move fast in the shower, refusing to think about it or dwell on it. We have work to do today, before another idiot is dumb enough to get themselves killed by Bloody Mary.

The guys don't questions my mood or talk much on the way over to Donna's. Rachel is already here, parked out front, as promised. She's supposed to encouraged Donna to talk to us. "This is useless," I announce as we walk up to the house. "No way is she gonna even know if her dad killed her mom, nonetheless speculate on it."

"You're optimistic today," Sam teases.

I feel the heat start to burn, close to my short fuse. Jim used to tell me that at least passive aggressive is somewhat passive. So I take that route and respond, "Well, it'd be stupid to pretend that this is anything else."

I'm repeating Sam's words from earlier, words that he thought I didn't hear. I know I shouldn't tell them that I was listening and I shouldn't do this, mostly because it makes me seem vulnerable. But when I hear Dean smack Sam's shoulder and Sam mutter a curse under his breath, I get just a tiny bit of satisfaction. At least he feels like an ass.

The door opens before we get there and Donna appears with Rachel behind her. She looks cross and her stance is more annoyed than anything. I have a feeling Rachel gave her a heads up. "You were in my house without us last night?" she demands.

"Yes," I answer before the guys could lie. "And we found some important information."

"Yeah, my mom's name?" she asks, frowning.

"Linda Shoemaker was your mom?" I clarify.

"Yes, but I don't know why you're asking me this."

I take a breath and try to deescalate her. "I'm sorry. I realize this is hard, but it's important. How did your mom die?" Donna scoffs and shakes her head. "Please," I implore her.

"Fine. Linda was my mom," she says. "And she overdosed on sleeping pills it was an accident. That's it and that's all I have to say to you. I think you should leave."

"Donna, please," Sam begins.

Donna loses her cool and shouts, "Just leave us alone!" She marches back into the house and I sign, defeated and annoyed by the emotions of teenaged girls. You don't see me getting all worked up everyone someone around us dies.

I step off of the stoop and Rachel dares a glance back toward her friend before coming out a little further and whispering, "Shit, do you really think her dad could have killed her mom?" She looks horrified.

I just shrug, unable to give her a straight answer. Dean admits, "Maybe."

"I think I should stick around," Rachel says, stepping back inside.

"We'll let you know if we find anything," I assure you. "Just, whatever you do – "

Rachel lets out a humorless laugh and finishes for me, "I'm definitely not going to say it." I hope she means that, for everyone's sake.

We head back to the hotel, driving in silence the way I wish we would more often, and as soon as we're inside I sit on one of the beds and pull out my laptop. I have something of a plan. Sam looks over my shoulder and asks, "You're doing a nationwide search?"

"Yup," I answer, inwardly daring him to challenge me. "The NCIC, FBI database; any Mary in the country who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me at this point."

"But if she's haunting the town, she should have died here," he notes.

"We've looked," I remind him. "There's nothing local. So unless you've got a better idea, I'm gonna find a place to start."

Dean intervenes in the manner that I usually do when they start to get hostile or annoy me. He gets on track and says, "So it seems like we've figured out Mary's pattern."

"Mr. Shoemaker and Jill both had secrets where people died," I agree, nodding a little. With stories like this, there's always a part of me that's kind of glad they're dead. I believe in a harsh justice; that of the Old Testament while maybe not Christ in the manner Jim believes. I also know that other people will die, and that it's not on God's plan for a spirit to kill them. So we have to protect them.

"There is a lot of folklore about mirrors," Sam notes wisely. I hate when he brings out his nerdy side. OK, I really love it but right now I'm hating that fact. "People believe they reveal your lies or secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul."

"Which is why it's bad luck to break them," Dean finishes. "So maybe someone says it, and then if Mary sees you and you've got some really nasty secret…she punishes you for it. Whether you summoned her or not."

I'm only half hearing their discussion of mirrors and Mary as I read through an old article I found in public record. I have something; I just know it. "Take a look at this."

I'll always appreciate how quickly they come when I tell them I have something. They never question whether or not I have something. It makes you feel important as part of the team, in a way. Now, they're looking at a picture of the back of a mirror with three letters.

"That looks a lot like the same handwriting," Sam agrees.

"Her name was Mary Worthington," I tell them. "It's an unsolved murder from Fort Wayne, Indiana. It's just a couple hours from here and the detective that worked the case is retired, alive, and still living there."

Sam stands and says enthusiastically, "Let's go." I don't hesitate to jump up as well and because we've been here such a short time, I'll only need a minute to pack a quick bag for the trip. While Sam is doing the same, Dean lays flat on his back on one of the mattresses. I turn to stare at him, confused, and Sam asks, "What are you doing?"

"You know, I'm really tired," he says, obviously lying. "You guys should gone on ahead. I'll take a nap and…you can talk."

"Dean, everything is fine; there's no reason to talk," I say. Now I'm the one who's lying.

"Yeah, sure, but I remember a little bit of your temper from a visit when we were kids," Dean announces, saying this for the first time. Sam and Dean did come through our home in Minnesota a couple times but I was only 7 on the last trip, and I barely remember it. I've never heard this story before so I frown at him. "We were at the church and some kid made fun of your pigtails. So you punched him in the throat."

Sam laughs loudly, looking at me in surprise, and I can't help a laugh as the memory comes back to me. It was the first time Jim had tried to do something "cute" with my hair. I hated those damn pigtails but he was so proud of himself. Ralph Torino made fun of me and I hit him. Actually, Dean is either being nice or remembering the story incorrectly; I hit him, then jumped on top of him and continued to hit him.

 _God only knows how Jim managed to teach me a damn thing._

"So I don't really want you to beat up my brother," Dean continues. "Which, let's be honest, you probably could. Or lose your cool on a hunt." He reaches over to the nightstand, picks up the keys to the Impala and throws them at me. I catch them, nearly dead from the shock on impact. "If you promise to talk, I will even let you drive my Baby."

"Holy shit, Sam, let's go before he changes his mind," I announce, turning and quickly heading for the door. I haven't been permitted to drive the Impala yet and I'm definitely not missing an opportunity. I hear Sam follow me and shut the door to the hotel. I open the driver side door – finally – and toss my bag into the backseat before sliding into the seat. When Sam follows I tell him, "These seats are so much more comfortable behind this wheel."

Sam laughs and warns, "Don't let Dean catch you caressing Baby." I run my hands over the leather covered wheel one more time and laugh, understanding some of why he loves his car so much. "I feel like I should be wearing a seatbelt," he jokes as I rev the engine.

"You guys never did ask if I have a license," I remind him. He laughs and I pull out of the parking lot, heading west toward Indiana. I'm not nervous about the fact that we're supposed to be talking, but I am secretly terrified that I'll hurt Dean's car. I really don't think he'd ever talk to me again if I dinged her.

Fortunately, Sam stays quiet for a while and I find it's an easy car to drive. It's forty minutes into the drive before the tall, hot, jerk in the passenger seat starts to shift around uncomfortably and I know he has something to say. I'd like to just let him sweat it out, but it's terribly distracting to watch him run his palms down his thighs a dozen times a minute. "Sam, talk or sit still please," I tell him finally.

"You know that I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, right?" he asks softly.

"You didn't hurt my feelings," I respond, totally on instinct.

Sam looks over at me and says firmly, "You don't have to do that. We know you aren't a stone wall, so you don't have to act like one."

"Is this still you not trying to hurt my feelings?" I ask. "'Cause if you're going the 'I didn't know you could hear me route' you can save your breath. That's just rude."

"Well…I mean, I didn't know you could hear us," he admits. At least he's being honest, but it makes me roll my eyes. "But that's not what I was trying to say. It just…I don't know, Dean suggested going out to dinner. Doesn't that seem ridiculous? We're hunting Bloody Mary and then, what, stop for Italian, dressed up, and talking about our aspirations?"

"Of course it's ridiculous," I agree, somewhat actually agreeing and somewhat sarcastic. "We can only talk about something other than hunting in the middle of the night when you're chasing nightmares away."

"You know, I actually really enjoy those talks," he snaps at me suddenly. I glance over and find that he looks annoyed with me now. "It means a lot to me that you don't judge me for that, that I can feel safe for that time even with the nightmares. I didn't realize it annoyed you."

"It annoys me that I'm just a glorified teddy bear," I inform him, repeating words that have stuck with me since Dean said it.

Now Sam pauses and frowns deeply. "Why would you say that?"

"It's not like you behave any differently," I tell him. "We do our job, you spoon with me every night, and then you act like making time to actually just be with me is absurd." I shake my head and continue, "I'm not asking for a date; we don't really have the time and we're looking for your dad and you just lost Jessica. I don't want that. But I figured we were friends and – "

"Kenz, you're like my best friend," he announces, surprising me right down to my core. "Dean is my brother, yeah, but I couldn't talk to him about the nightmares or about Jessica or…being scared of a Wendigo ripping us all to pieces. And it's not just the job stuff; I really like the middle of the night shitty TV and talking about books we've read and making fun of Dean."

I laugh a little and roll my eyes. I'm trying not to be charmed by the guy who did in fact hurt my feelings this morning. "I didn't think you needed me to tell you that I care about you and that I like you. It's just…"

He trails off so I finish, "Too soon, too busy, too much."

"Yes, that's it. All of that," he answers with a small nod but definitive nod. "Is that OK?" he asks cautiously.

"Of course it's OK," I assure him honestly. He rewards me with that smile of his just as we reach Fort Wayne. I'd rather not be mad at the guy who is keeping me sane with intelligent conversation, preventing me from getting too homesick with a good cuddle, and giving me plenty of eye candy. The short remainder of the ride is filled with music and the road and easiness, the way it should be with a friend.

We reach the apartment of retired Detective Charles McCann and he invites us in shortly after we tell him that we're reporters and interested in a specific cold case. "I was on the job for 35 years; a detective for most of that," he tells us, inviting us in to a cozy apartment. No excessive empty alcohol bottles or the usual 'tortured soul' paraphernalia here.

The older man with a tired look to him continues, "Now, everyone hangs it up with a few loose ends. For me, it's the Mary Worthington murder. That case still gets me."

"What exactly happened?" Sam asks.

"You two said you were reporters?" Charles asks now, raising skeptical eye at us. Reporters would have done their research.

"We know Mary was 19 and lived by herself," I begin, recalling the facts I was reading just a couple hours ago. "We know she won a few beauty contests and dreamt of getting out of Indiana to be an actress. And we know that on March 29, someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut her eyes out with a knife."

Charles nods slowly. "That's right." I don't doubt for a moment that he remembers every detail.

"You see, Sir," Sam begins. "When we ask you what happened, we want to know what you think happened."

A small smile pulls at the edges of Charles's mouth as he eyes us cautiously. After a long pause, he stands and motions for us to follow him. He leads us through the kitchen and into a back room, occupied by a desk and three filing cabinets. Charles shuts the door behind us even though we're alone in the room. He goes into one of the filing cabinets and appears to know exactly what he's looking for. "Technically, I'm not supposed to have this," he informs us, pulling out a thick folder.

Charles flips through some of the pages before pulling out the picture of the mirror that we found online. "See this? The letters 'T.R.E.' I think Mary was trying to spell the name of her killer."

In both cases in Toledo, Mary nailed the killer and wrote the names of their secret victims. Maybe it's because she never got to tell anyone the name of her killer. She died a secret victim.

"Did you ever find out who it was?" Sam asks.

"Not for sure," he answers. "But there was a local man. A surgeon, Trevor Sampson." Charles looks us in the eye and says, "I think he cut her Mary up good."

"Why would he do something like that?" It's the logical question.

"We found Mary's diary and it mentioned a man she was seeing," Charles explains, running his hand over the folder as if the memory of the case is truly haunting him. "She called him by his initial – T. Her last entry said that she was going to tell T's wife about their affair."

There's motive for any man, really. "OK but there have to be a number of men with a T in their name," I note. "What made you so sure it was Sampson?"

"It's hard to say," he admits, frowning. "But the way her eyes were cut? It was almost professional." Like a surgeon did it. It's not hard to follow his train of thought to a reasonable conclusion, but this is still a cold case after all these years.

"You could never prove it?" I clarify.

Charles shakes his head sadly and sighs. "No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous. If you ask me, Mary spent her last moments try to expose this guy's secrets, but never could."

Exposing secrets is exactly what Mary is doing now in Toledo. Sam and I exchange glances, and I know we're on the same page. "Is Sampson still alive?" Sam asks.

"No," Charles answers with another shake of his head. "Died about 10 years ago; natural causes."

If we can't confront here, there are a few other avenues we can take to stop Mary. "Where was Mary buried?" Her corpse needs a good salt and burn to stop the murders.

Charles frowns just a bit and answers, "She was cremated."

Crap. Sam asks, "What about that mirror?" He motions to the page and I get where he's going. Haunted object. "It's not in evidence lockup somewhere is it?"

"No, it was returned to Mary's family a long time ago."

"Her family is still alive?" I clarify. Charles nods and gives us their names. We have somewhere to start with the mirror, at least. And we've definitely found the origins of our Bloody Mary. Sam and I thank the retired detective for his time and get back on the road to Toledo.

I drive back and Sam takes on the task of finding numbers for and calling the remaining Worthington family members. He uses the most simple story; he's one of those weird guys who likes owning shit that belonged to dead people in gruesome cases. It gets him in at least. The mom, in her seventies, talks Sam's ear off for nearly an hour and is sobbing by the time they hang up. She has no idea who ended up with the mirror.

Mary's sister is next and she questions Sam up and down about his intentions; apparently she thinks he's into something sinful. If only she knew. Sam finally gets her to admit that Mary's brother has the mirror, and that's who Sam calls next. "You sold it?" I hear Sam ask. "Do you remember who you sold it to?" It takes much longer than it should for Sam to get his answer. We're almost back in Toledo by the time he says, "Well, that's too bad Mr. Worthington; I would have paid a lot of money for that mirror. Thanks anyway." He hangs up.

Expectant and impatient, I ask, "So?"

"So, the mirror was in the family until last week," he answers. "The brother sold it then to a store called Estate Antiques…a store in Toledo."

I nod, happy with that information. "OK, so wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary haunts. Her spirit is tied up with it somehow."

"There are a lot of superstitions about mirrors capturing spirits," Sam notes.

"Right," I agree. "That's why for centuries whenever anyone died in a house, the family would cover all the mirrors so that the ghost wouldn't get trapped. It's still common in Jewish families."

"So this Mary dies in front of a mirror and it captures her spirit."

I frown and ask, "But how is she moving around from mirror to mirror?" Sam is quiet for a moment and doesn't have an answer. "Well if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it."

My cell phone starts ringing and the caller ID tells me that it's Rachel so I answer quickly. "Hello?" I hear a panicked sobbing on the other end. "Rachel?"

"She's coming for me," Rachel says in a terrified whisper. "Help me."

I press the pedal down to the floor and gun the Impala back to town.

 **…** **Half Hour Later…**

We found Rachel standing in a grassy field outside the high school, shaking violently and sobbing. She told us that Bloody Mary was after her, she'd seen her. The terror on her face makes me believe her. Sam takes off her jacket and Rachel covers her face with it as we lead her into the car and hurry to the hotel. I lead them into the room while Sam guides a blind Rachel, her face still buried in his jacket.

"We need to cover every reflective surface in here," I inform Dean, hurrying. He pauses for just a moment but doesn't ask questions before jumping up. Sam sits Rachel down on the couch, and we start moving. The curtains are drawn and we use blankets, sheets, towels and clothing to cover all of the mirrors, and anything shiny enough to see your reflection in. We cannot let Rachel see Mary.

"Okay," Sam breathes when we're finished. "You can open your eyes now, Rachel."

The shaking girl obeys, letting the jacket down slowly but not looking up from the floor. "Listen to me," Dean tells her firmly. "You're gonna sit right here on this couch. You don't look around and you don't look at glass or anything else with a reflection. OK? As long as you do that, she can't get to you."

"But I can't keep that up forever," Rachel says, her voice cracking. "Oh, God, I'm gonna die aren't I?"

"No," Sam answers firmly. "Not anytime soon."

I move to sit beside Rachel on the couch and touch her arm gently. "Alright Rachel, we can help you…but you need to tell us what happened."

"We were in the bathroom," she explains. "Donna said it."

I shake my head. "That's not what I'm talking about." Rachel diverts her eyes from the floor. If I'm going to save this girl, I need a look at her moral compass. What secret is Mary hunting her down for? "Something happened, didn't it? You have a secret where someone got hurt. I need you to tell us about it."

Rachel takes a shaky breath. "I had this boyfriend," she begins. "I loved him but he kind of scared me too, you know? One night at his house, we had a big fight. I broke up with him and he got upset." Tears start to spill from her eyes as she continues, "He said that he needed me and loved me. He told me, he said, 'Rachel if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna myself.'"

My heart hurts a little as she looks down again and sobs. "You know what I said?" she continues. "I said 'go ahead' and I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just…I didn't believe him and I should have. And he's dead."

"Rachel, that's…" I trail off, unsure of the words. Instead of that route I take a breath and touch her shoulder. "We're gonna fix this. You're gonna be OK and this will all be over soon."

We leave Rachel to rest on the couch while we get ourselves ready, gearing up with a bat, a crow bar, and a hammer to do some mirror smashing. Nightfall isn't far off, so we don't have to wait long. On the way to the store, Sam notes, "Her boyfriend killing himself; that's not really Rachel's fault."

"You know as well as I do that spirits don't really see shades of gray, Sammy," Dean responds. He's right; in Mary's eyes, a secret where someone dies is good enough to earn death.

"I've been thinking," I tell them. "It might not be enough just to smash that mirror."

Dean frowns. "Why? What do you mean?"

"Mary's hard to pin down, and she's moving from mirror to mirror," I remind them. "Who's to say she won't just keep hiding in them forever?"

Sam nods slowly and suggests, "So maybe we should try to pin her down. You know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it."

"How do we know that's gonna work?" Dean asks.

"We don't," I answer honestly. "But who's gonna summon her?" I'm totally not above using Rachel as bait to end this. We can protect her.

"I will," Sam answers suddenly. "She'll come after me."

"Sam," I breathe, my heart aching again.

"You know what? That's it," Dean shouts, smacking the steering wheel and glaring at Sam. "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret, that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop man. The nightmares and calling out her name in the middle of the night – it's gonna kill you and it's killing Mack."

My stomach flops and I look away before Sam can look at me. I haven't told him about saying Jessica's name in his sleep, even while he cuddles me. I haven't wanted to think about it; it makes me feel much worse than just a teddy bear. I'm totally gonna kick Dean's ass for spilling that shit out loud.

Sam stays silent and Dean continues, "Listen to me Sammy. It was not your fault. If you wanna blame something, blame the thing that killed her. Hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I'm the one who dragged you away from her in the first place."

"I don't blame you," Sam argues.

"Well you shouldn't blame yourself!" Dean urges him. "There's nothing you could have done."

Finally, Sam shouts back, "I could have warned her!"

"About what?" Dean demands. "You didn't know any of this was going to happen. Besides, all of this isn't a secret. We know all about it."

"No, you don't," Sam responds softly.

"What?"

"You don't know all about it," Sam says. "I haven't told you everything." I'm sure that my frown matches Dean's and I'm almost glad that Sam looks ashamed. What hasn't he told us?

"Sam, what are you talking about?" I ask him.

He shakes his head and says, "It won't be a secret if I tell you now." He's got a point; then it wouldn't work.

"No," Dean says firmly. "I don't like it. It's not gonna happen." Fear for his brother is evident in his expression and voice but Sam looks at Dean as though he's just being stubborn.

"Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we can do something about it," Sam reminds him in an urgent voice. "And who knows how many more people will die after that? We're doing this. You have to let me do it."

Sam is right. I know it and Dean knows it, signaled by his silence as we arrive at the small, dark antique shop. Dean parks the Impala in the alley behind the shop and we move quietly but quickly. The lock on the back door is easily picked and, fortunately, there's no alarm system to contend with.

We move into the shop and find it completely crowded with mirrors. There are hundreds of them; apparently the shop owner has a bit of a fetish with glass. "That's just great," Dean groans.

"Let's just start looking," I suggest. We spread out, everyone with a picture of the mirror that Mary Worthington died in front of.

It's barely a minute before Dean groans, "Maybe they already sold it."

"I don't think so," Sam responds. His tone of voice makes me nervous and I hurry towards him, Dean reaching him at the same time. The large ornate frame is definitely the one. This is it; Bloody Mary's mirror. My stomach knots because I know what happens next.

"Are you sure about this?" Dean asks Sam.

Sam takes a deep breath and faces the mirror. I hold the baseball firmly in my hands, ready to swing. "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary." He hesitates and then says it one more time. "Bloody Mary."

With all of our hearts pounding so loudly I can hear it, nothing happens and nothing moves. I send up a silent prayer that this won't work. The shop is suddenly awash is flashing lights; someone is outside. Dean curses under his breath and then tells me, "I'll check it out. Stay with him and smash anything that movies."

Sam faces Mary's mirror and I stand beside him, my eyes roving around from mirror to mirror, waiting. "Come on," he mutters. "Come into this one."

"It's your fault," I hear a voice hiss. I spin and find a pale white and bloody woman glaring at Sam from a different mirror. Sam raises his crowbar to swing and then groans in pain, dropping it to grab his head. "You killed her," Mary tells him. I step in front of Sam and swing, smashing the mirror into huge shards.

"You killed Jessica," the voice continues without hesitation, simply appearing in another mirror.

 _Shit._ This is not going to go well.

"You never told her the truth; who you really were," Mary hisses just before I smash her image with another smash. Sam cries out in pain from the floor but I can't stop to help him. She's everywhere while we're surrounded by mirrors, reappearing almost instantly. "But it's more than that, isn't it?" she taunts him. Another mirror gone. "Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying."

Another mirror and my stomach flops in horror between the awful bitch's words and Sam's groans of pain. "You had them for days before she died, didn't you?" she screams at him. My heart nearly stalls from shock at the words; I didn't know that. I hesitate too long and smash the mirror after she moves from it. A glance down at Sam, blood running from his eyes and his face wracked with pain, tells me that I'm failing.

"Dean!" I shout, needing help.

"You were so desperate to ignore them," Mary charges Sam. Another mirror. "To believe they were just dreams." A mirror falls to the floor as I hit it and smashes on top of the others, the floor littered in broken glass. "How could you ignore them? How could you leave her alone to die?"

Sam shouts in pain and I shout for Dean again, now just smashing all of the mirrors blindly. If she can't see him, she can't kill him and I will not let her kill him. Dean comes running and takes my lead, smashing every mirror we can in just seconds. When the last one smashes, Sam groans and falls backward as if he's been released by an invisible force. "Sam!" I call, dropping the bat and running to him. I reach him before Dean and gather his face, wiping at the blood near his eyes.

"Sammy!" Dean shouts. "Sammy!" he repeats when Sam doesn't respond right away.

"It's Sam," he groans finally, slowly blinking his eyes open. I'm so grateful to see those hazel eyes in one piece if not blood shot. Dean just laughs and we each take one of Sam's arms to help him up. The sound of glass crunching behind me catches my attention and when I turn, the sight of Mary climbing out of the broken glass sends chills all the way down my spine.

She's no longer a reflection; she's here in front of us. And she's much stronger this way. Mary walks toward us, flickering in that way spirits do to make you wonder if they're actually there. Before I can react, grab a weapon, or do anything, a searing pain shoots into my eyes and nearly blinds me. I hear myself cry out and drop to my knees, covering my eyes. Both guys groan beside me and I'm certain as an invisible knife twists into the back of my eyes that she's going to kill us all.

She's going to kill us. Mary has been killing people all this time and no one knew about it.

 _Bloody Mary has her own dirty secret._

I force my eyes off of her despite the pain and find a mirror frame beside me. It's cracked but there's still some glass it in. The frame is heavy and it takes more energy than I have through the horrible stabbing in my face, but I lift the mirror and angle it towards Mary. She sees it and freezes, a horrified look coming over her face.

"You killed them!" Mary's voice shouts. But it didn't come from Mary. "All those people." The Mary in front of us screams in an ungodly noise and it happens fast; her eyes flash a terrible red, the screaming never stops, and then she's gone in one big flame. The knife is gone just as quickly, the pain stopping instantly and an invisible force releasing me. I let the mirror fall and inhale as deeply as I can when I fall onto my hands and knees.

"You OK?" I hear Sam ask, feeling his arms slip around my shoulders as he pulls me upright. I manage a nod and look back, finding both of them winded and a little bloody but with eyes intact. I search Sam's face, wanting to make sure she didn't scar him psychologically. He assures me silently with a small smile and reaches out, using his thumb to wipe a tear of blood off of my face. I can see that his beautiful eyes, blood stained right now, are trying to communicate something and I know what it is. He's grateful, knowing I won't judge him…and that I'm not hurt. There's a hurt there, too – an apology. I feel a completely unfamiliar tug inside me and don't know what to say.

"Shit," Dean groans. Sam lets his hand fall from my face and we both turn to look at him. "This has to be like a six hundred years of bad luck." I can't help a laugh, tossing my head back and letting relief flood me finally. The boys can't help but join me and in seconds, as we pull ourselves out of the glass ocean on the floor, the blood tears are joined by real, happy ones.

 **…** **Next Morning…**

It's just about sunrise by the time we sneak out of the shop, back to the hotel, and gather Rachel. We want to be sure, so we uncover everything give it a couple hours of vigilance while Rachel and Sam are exposed. Nothing. No more Bloody Mary.

Since it's safe, we start getting ready to take Rachel home and get back on the road. While Dean is in the shower, I stand at the sinks with a washcloth and try to wash all the blood off of my face. Sam appears beside me, freshly showered and changed into clean clothes. Silently, he takes the washcloth from me and nudges my shoulder so that I turn toward him. We're quiet for a minute as I let him hold my chin and gently wipe my face. His eyes are pensive and sad. I don't know what to say or what he wants to say, so I keep quiet.

"Why didn't you tell me I was saying her name during the nightmares?" he asks finally, voice soft.

"Why would I?" I respond. "It's natural. You're dreaming about her. You miss her very much." There's no accusation in my voice because I don't feel any. It might hurt to have Sam cling to me while calling for someone else, but I can't blame him for it. He loved Jessica and he misses her, and feels guilty for her death.

"But it must make you feel terrible," he notes. "It makes me feel pretty awful just knowing about it."

"Sam, are the nightmares more bearable if you're with me?" I ask him.

He sighs in a completely relieved way and answers, "God, yes. I can sleep almost normally, you know."

"Then shut up," I tell him firmly. "It's worth it; I want to help you. That's what friends do." Sam searches my eyes for a moment before he smiles just a little and nods. He releases my face and puts the washcloth down. I check the mirror and discover that I'm completely clean now.

I feel clean on the inside, too. It's good that Sam knows the truth about how I feel and I know the truth about what happened with Jessica – why he's so haunted. We can get past all of this with the truth out.

The ride to Rachel's house is much easier now; there's a calm in everyone. When we pull out to her house she takes a breath. "This is really over, isn't it?" she asks.

Dean nods and answers, "It's over." Rachel smiles at him, turns to smile at Sam and I in the back seat and nods mostly to herself. She starts to get out of the car and I feel good knowing she can get on with her life.

"Hey, Rachel," Sam calls through the open window. She stops and turns back. "Your boyfriend's death…you should really try to forgive yourself. No matter you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it." He takes a breath and adds, "Sometimes bad things just happen."

Rachel seems to actually think on his words and she gives another small, sad smile and nods. I reach over and grab Sam's hand, squeezing it. I'm proud of him for having the strength to say that to her and I hope he starts to believe it.

"That's good advice," Dean notes as he starts to pull away. Sam squeezes my hand in return but then doesn't release it, keeping hold of my hand in his lap. I don't mind; actually I really enjoy the warm, still mostly soft feel of his hand against mine. It's nice…it's nice to have your hand held sometimes, you know? "Sammy," Dean begins. "Now that it's over, tell me what the secret it."

Sam sighs. "Dean, look, you're my brother. I'd do anything for you. But…there are some things I need to keep to myself." Dean takes a breath but doesn't argue and I think it's for the best. Sam needs to battle this on his own before getting input from anyone else. I know, but I'm certainly not one to tell someone how to deal with their own shit. We all have our demons. Holding his hand, I think Sam and I might just manage the fight.


	6. 1x6: Under My Skin

"We should be able to hit Tucumcari in a couple hours for lunch," Dean is saying from the front seat, bringing me out of a zone I'd fallen into while reading over what might be a case. "We can probably hit Santa Fe by midnight."

I nod in agreement with the plan, but Sam is staring at his phone and doesn't say a word or acknowledge Dean's words at all. "And Sam wears women's underwear," Dean says in the same tone, testing his brother's listening abilities.

"I'm listening," Sam says, still not looking up from his screen. "I'm just…busy."

I frown. It's not like we have lives. "Busy with what?" Dean asks. He knows that inserting himself into Sam's business bothers the younger Winchester, but doesn't care at all. I think he considers it his right as the older sibling. I consider it valid to keeping us all alive.

"Reading e-mails," Sam answers.

"E-mails from who?" Dean presses.

Sam frowns but answers, "My friends back at Stanford."

I raise my eyebrows, caught off guard by that answer. I didn't realize Sam was keeping in touch with his college friends. Dean's surprise is evident in his tone. "Are you kidding?" he asks. "You still keep in touch with your college buddies?"

"Why not?" Sam asks innocently.

"What do you tell them?" I ask, really curious. I can't imagine where they think he is. "About where you've been, what you've been doing?"

Sam shrugs a little. "I tell them that I'm on a road trip with family and I needed some time off after what happened to Jess."

"You lie to them," Dean asserts. He's not wrong – not by a long shot.

"No," Sam argues indignantly. "I just don't tell them everything."

Dean scoffs and I can't help but chime in, "That's exactly the same thing as lying." Sam rolls his eyes and doesn't respond. I'm sure he's annoyed that I'm 'taking Dean's side', but I can't stop Dean from being right sometimes.

"Look, man, I get it," Dean allows. "Telling the truth is far worse."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Sam asks. "Just cut everyone out of my life?" He looks at Dean, who just gives him a pointed look, and scoffs. Sam then looks back at me. I'm sitting in a car on the road with guys I didn't know from Cain and Abel a couple of weeks ago. I have no one in my life that doesn't relate to _this_ life. All I can do to answer Sam's question is raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders.

 _We did it, and so can you._

"You two are serious?" Sam asks. He scoffs again and shakes his head.

"Yeah, it sucks, but in a job like this you just can't get close to people," Dean tells him. "Period."

"You guys are pretty much anti-social, you know that right?" he asks, still shaking his head at us. Dean smiles and puts his hand up for a high five. I don't hesitate to smack it with my own, not ashamed of our lifestyle. It's the only life I've ever known; maybe if I'd been as lucky as Sam to escape for a little while, I'd agree with him.

We're all quite for a few more miles while Sam continues to read through his phone. I feel myself starting to doze off until Sam suddenly says, "Oh my God."

"What?" I ask.

"It's an email from Rebecca Warren – one of those college buddies," he answers.

"Is she hot?" Dean asks without hesitation. I roll my eyes and he smirks when he catches me doing it in the rearview mirror.

"I went to school with her and her brother Zach," Sam continues. "She says that Zach's been charged with murder; he was arrested for killing his girlfriend." Sam's voice suggests that this is really surprising. "She says he didn't do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case against him."

Dean frowns deeply at Sam and asks, "Dude, what kind of people were you hanging out with?"

"No man, I know Zach; he's not a killer," Sam says in a firm voice.

I take a breath, deciding to speak my mind even though I know it'll make Sam mad at me for a little while. "Maybe you know him as well as he and his sister knew you," I remind him. We never really _know_ someone. People have secrets and they lie; it's the human condition.

"They're in St. Louis," Sam says. He sits up straighter and announces, "We're going."

Dean just laughs and says, "I'm sorry about your friend. Really, okay? But this doesn't sound like our kind of problem."

"They're my friends," Sam reminds us. "That makes it our problem." Dean shakes his head and looks firm. I realize that I'm the tiebreaker here and I know how Sam is feeling; if I had a friend in trouble, I'd expect their support at this point.

"It's about as strong a lead as the one that brought us out here," I remind Dean. "It never hurts to take a look." Sam gives me an appreciative smile though it's not deserved; I'm being honest, not taking sides.

Dean growls in frustration and spits, "St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us!" In the next moment, he pulls a U-turn to take us back in other direction.

 **…** **Next Day, St. Louis…**

Sam's friend didn't grow up in a house that looks like it should have produced a murderer. It's just too adorable. The girl, barely taller than me, who opens the door of massive colonial is also adorable – annoyingly so. She recognizes Sam immediately and exclaims, "Oh my God! Sam!"

He laughs and embraces her. I can't help by roll my eyes but realize that I truly dislike the feeling of jealously. Dean nudges my arm from beside me and I step on his foot. I hate Dean making fun of me about the jealousy even more than feeling it. "If it isn't little Becky," Sam teases as he releases the girl.

She scoffs playfully and responds, "You know what you can do with that 'little Becky' crap?" Sam laughs and Dean, apparently feeling left out, clears his throat to draw their attention.

"Hi," he says, stepping forward to insert himself in front of Sam and shake Rebecca's hand. "I'm Dean, the older brother."

"Hi," Rebecca responds, smiling at him even though she looks a little intimated. I've realized that Dean's appearance is intimidating to most of the girls we come across, but I don't know why. Sure he's hot, but he's totally a teddy bear.

"Hi," Dean says again, still holding her hand and giving her the charming smile that seems to work on veryone. I roll my eyes and try not to gag at her blush.

Sam turns toward me, his smile warm but cautious. "And this is my – uh…" he begins, awkwardly. "This is Kenzie." I force myself not to think about Sam referring to me – even accidently – as 'his' and smile at Rebecca. She noticed too and seems shocked, smiling politely as she looks me over. I've never been anyone's anything before and considering it's Sam with his whole situation…I don't know how to feel about that. I choose not to think about it for the moment.

"We're here to help," Dean tells Rebecca.

"Yeah," Sam agrees, gathering himself. "Whatever we can do." Rebecca smiles sweetly and invites all of us inside.

"Nice place," Dean notes. He's playing it down. The house is all marble and stainless steel, way too modern and fancy for my taste. I've never been into a house this nice and now I know why

What does it say about me that I prefer the hotels?

"It's my parent's house," Rebecca explains, leading us all into the cavernous kitchen. I amble along behind, trying to keep a distance because I feel like I need to but I don't know why. I feel out of place just being in this house. "I was just crashing here for the weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off; I'm staying until Zach is free."

"Where are your folks?" Sam asks, leaning his forearms on the marble countertop. Dean is already taking a seat the breakfast bar. I choose to lean on the wall.

"They live in Paris for half the year," she answers as if it's totally normal to have that arrangement. This person lives on a different planet than the one I grew up on. "They're on their way home now for the trial." She straightens suddenly, remembering her manners, and asks, "Do you guys want a beer or anything?"

"Yes," Dean answers.

"No thanks," Sam corrects him, giving Dean a look. Rebecca listens to Sam and doesn't go to the fridge. He takes a breath before getting down to business. "So…what happened?"

"Well, Zach came home and found Emily tied to a chair," she begins. "And she was beaten up, bloody, and she wasn't breathing so he called 911. The police showed up and…they arrested Zach." I try not to narrow my eyes or react at all. It's still possible her brother is guilty. "The thing is," she continues. "The only way Zach could have killed Emily is if he was in two places at once."

Sam frowns and asks, "What do you mean?"

"They police have a video from the security camera across the street from the apartment," Rebecca explains. "It shows Zach coming home at ten thirty and Emily was killed just after that." She shakes her head and tells us emphatically, "But I _swear_ Zach was here with me, having a few beers until at least midnight."

That is weird. He couldn't have been here and there, obviously. The cops have a tape, though which is hard evidence to fight. It doesn't help the case that Rebecca is Zach's sister; siblings lie for one another all the time.

"You know, it might help if we could see the crime scene," Sam suggests casually. He quickly corrects, "Zach's house."

Rebecca gives him a look. "Why? What could you do?"

"Me?" He shakes his head, shaggy hair falling onto his forehead. "Not much. But Dean here is a cop."

I see the surprise flash over Dean's face but he recovers quickly and puts on his charming face. Then, because he's Dean, he adds, "Detective."

"Really?" Rebecca asks, surprise in her voice as she looks over him. "Where?"

"Santa Fe, New Mexico," he answer smoothly, reciting of course the name of the city we'd originally been headed to before Sam turned us around. "But I'm off duty now." He shoots a look at Sam, clearly uninterested in playing games in St. Louis.

Rebecca hesitates and shakes her head. "You guys are all so nice to offer, but I don't know."

"Becks," Sam says, imploring her and reaching out to cover her hand with his. I feel a nasty taste start to form in the back of my throat, both at the cute nickname and the hand holding. She's adorable, just like Jessica was. Sam has a type and I don't like staring it in the face. "I know Zach didn't do this. We have to try to find a way to prove he's innocent."

Rebecca smiles a little and nods. "Okay," she agrees. "I'll go get the keys." She heads out of the room and the moment she's out of ear shot, Dean scoffs loudly and pushes away from the counter to walk toward me at the side of the room.

"Yeah, man, you're a real straight shooter with your friends," he jabs at Sam. It'd be hard to miss his point. Yesterday he was just not telling the whole truth; today Dean is a detective.

"Look, Zach and Becky need our help," Sam says.

Dean shrugs, standing basically in between Sam and I. "I just don't think this is our kind of thing." He turns to look at me. "Mack?"

Tie breaker again. I take a breath and try to be rational, even though I'd love to leave 'Becks' in our dust. "Two places at once? We've looked into less than that."

"Are you guys sure this is OK?" Rebecca asks, returning.

Dean only pauses for a second before he turns to her with a smile and answers, "Of course. I'm an officer of the law." Rebecca seems fine with it so we all head out of the house. At the door, Dean catches my arm and stops me from continuing. "What's going on with you today?"

"Tired," I lie, knowing that he won't believe me if I say nothing.

"You slept in the car," he observes.

"Your car isn't very comfortable," I tease him.

Dean frowns at me and says, "You're just rude."

I laugh and tell him, "You're stupid." Playfully I shove Dean away and he laughs, catching Sam's attention. He frowns slightly and stops in his tracks, watching Dean and I walk toward him.

"What's so funny?" Sam asks, his tone odd and unfamiliar to me.

"Mack thinks she is," Dean responds, yanking the door to the Impala open as I walk around to the other side. I laugh at him, not caring if it's a little bit insensitive right now. Rebecca's brother might be a murderer and I don't know anything about her except that she's pretty, Sam has a nickname for her, and he lies to her. So I'm gonna laugh at Dean and try to snap out of my funk this morning as we head over to the crime scene.

Zach's house is a small brick row home with a tiny yard out front. Someone obviously enjoys gardening here, and I wonder what will happen to the flowers with Emily dead and Zach in prison. It's always weird things like that I get bothered by when someone dies; who will take care of the flowers they cared so much about?

The neighbors yard is touching Zach's and they have a black dog, standing right at the edge of the fence. I'm grateful he's chained up because the dog is nasty, growling and barking at us ferociously. Poor dog. As I head up the few stairs in the house, Sam and Becky stop suddenly in front of me. "Becks, you can wait outside if you want."

"No, I wanna help," she argues even though she already looks pale about going inside. I roll my eyes and continue up the stairs, pushing in between them to walk into the house ahead of them. Some of us have work to do. Dean has already cut the edge of the caution tape and entered, so I follow him.

"Rebecca, tell us what the police said," Dean says. He starts in the living room so I head for the small kitchen area, searching for anything that doesn't belong.

"They said Emily must have let the attacker in because there was no sign of a break-in," she answers.

"Definitely signs of a struggle, though," I note, finding a flower vase smashed on the floor with the water now evaporated and something that fell out of the fridge.

There's nothing else in the kitchen so I leave. "The lawyers are already talking about plea bargains," Rebecca tells Sam who gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. I ignore them and move with Dean toward the back of the house where there's an extra room.

There's blood everywhere in this room, and a chair with ropes cut away from it in the middle. This is where Emily was killed. "Oh, God," Rebecca groans, leaving the room as quickly as she entered it. Dean and I look around quickly but find nothing – no hairs or smells or anything.

We leave the room and head back for the living room. "OK Rebecca," I begin, determined to get to the bottom of this quickly. "If Zach didn't do it, someone else had to. Any ideas? Enemies or something weird happening?"

"You know, there was something," she tells us, nodding. "About a week before it happened, someone broke in here. They only stole some of Zach's clothing." She shrugs and adds, "The police said that because we're not that far from downtown, it doesn't mean anything. Robberies happen."

That's completely unhelpful. Still, I nod and we continue through the house. It takes an hour to search it all and we come up completely empty handed, even using an EMF sweep before we leave. The dog that has been barking for the entire time we were here is still at it when we pass him on our way out. "You know, that used to be the sweetest dog," Rebecca muses.

"What happened?" I ask, frowning. He's definitely not sweet now.

"He just…changed," she answers.

"Do you remember when he changed?" Sam asks. I know where he's going and don't know if I want to consider it evidence.

Rebecca nods and says, "Yeah, it was right around the same time that Emily died. A few days before." She continues through the yard and toward the car, but Sam stops Dean and I from following.

"The neighbor's dog went psycho right around the time Zach's girlfriend was killed," he observes. "Animals are sensitive to the paranormal; there's a lot of evidence of weird behaviors signaling evil."

"OK, so maybe Fido saw something," Dean allows.

Sam asks hopefully, "So you think this is our kind of problem?"

"No, probably not," he answers quickly. "But we should check out the security tape just to make sure." I know with that suggestion that Dean is starting to wonder if it might be ours. A human like Zach would leave something to signal it; humans are flawed and messy and stupid. No signs almost always mean it was something else. The dog, as much as I don't want to admit, is a strong piece of evidence as well.

Sam nods and heads toward Rebecca, where she's waiting at the Impala. As we get in, me taking shotgun again, Sam begins, "So, the security footage. Do you think maybe your lawyers can get their hands on it. I don't think my brother will have that kind of jurisdiction."

There's a pause before Rebecca admits, "I already have it." I raise my eyebrows, surprised. "I didn't want to say it before since…he's a cop. But I stole it from the lawyer's desk; I just had to see it for myself."

I can't help a laugh. I'd be more impressed by her balls to steal something if I hadn't already decided I don't like her. Still, it's totally a step I would have taken in her shoes. And it gives us a next step. We get back to Rebecca's parents house and she sets up the DVD copy of the security tape on her laptop. We sit on the couch to watch, Rebecca fast forwarding. "Here he comes," she says.

The timestamp on the video clearly shows Kyle walking into his house at 10:24pm. I can see the neighbor's dog barking and growling, baring his teeth like a deranged animal. Kyle ignores it and enters the house with his key. "You said the time of death of 10:30?" Dean clarifies. Six minutes is more than enough time.

Rebecca sighs in defeat and gives the laptop to Sam, obviously stressed out by it. "Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert; he says the tapes are authentic. They weren't tampered with."

I can see why she's so worried about her brother; this tape is hard to refute if it's authentic. "Hey, Becks, can we take those beers now?" Sam asks her suddenly.

"Oh sure," Rebecca says quickly, standing and heading out.

"Um, maybe some sandwiches too?" he requests gently.

Rebecca gives a sarcastic scoff and asks, "What do you think this is, Hooters?"

"I wish," Dean mumbles, but I roll my eyes. Not funny. Hooters does wings and fried pickles, not sandwiches. Still, I know there's a reason Sam asked for her to leave the room for a few minutes.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"Check this out," Sam says. He rewinds and slows the video, giving a frame by frame of Kyle crossing the street toward the house. Just before research the sidewalk, Kyle looks up at the camera and his eyes flash strangely in the camera glow. Very, very strangely. I lean in for a better look as Sam replays it, concerned.

Dean shrugs and suggests, "Maybe it's just a camera flare."

"That's not like any camera flare I've ever seen," Sam notes.

He's right…and it is a camera. "You know," I say, something clicking in my mind. "A lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul." I point at the screen and add, "And look at the way the dog is reacting. Maybe he sees something we can't."

"OK so maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zach?" Dean asks. "Something like looks like him but isn't – like a doppelganger."

Sam shrugs. "It's the only way to explain how he was in two places at the same time." I'm finally starting to feel like this could actually be a case for investigators of our sort. We need to figure out what kind of being could have made himself look like Zach and killed his girlfriend…and why.

 **…** **Motel, 5:30am…**

"Kenzie." I hear someone distant whispering my name. I don't dream vividly though, ever, so I know this is just going to be annoying. I ignore it, trying to find the comfortable dark place I'd been in just moments before. "Kenzie," the voice whispers, more urgently. Why doesn't that voice sound like it's in my dream? With a third whisper of my name, I distinctly feel someone touch my arm and know that I'm not dreaming.

I dare to peek an eye open and find Sam's face on the next pillow, less than six inches from my face. It was much more startling a few weeks ago. Now…well, I have to admit he's got a nice face to wake up to. Although maybe not in the middle of the night. "What's wrong?" I ask, my voice more raspy than normal. "Nightmare?"

"No, no I've been thinking," he answers in a whisper.

"Thinking is an activity for the sunshine hours, Sammy," I whisper with as firm a voice as I can manage. I know it'll annoy him that I called him Sammy which is, of course, why I did it. If he needs to wake me up for nightmares, that's fine. But I do not to need to wake up because he's got something – likely casework = on his mind.

"C'mon Kenzie, seriously," he responds. "I feel like we need to go check out the crime scene again?"

"In the middle of the night?" I exclaim, nearly smacking him.

"It's nearly dawn," he informs me. "But listen. The video shows the killer coming in but not coming out. So he probably went out the back."

"So?"

"So there should be a trail to follow."

I groan when I realize what he's onto and that he's made me want to go check it out, too. "A trail the police aren't ever going to follow because they think they caught the killer inside."

"Exactly," Sam enthuses. "I need you to come with me; Dean will complain the whole time."

"Why do we need to go so early?" I ask, pushing him further away from me and tugging the blankets over my head to block him out. I want sleep more than to follow a trail.

"So that no one gets suspicious when we're snooping around." Crap. That's kind of a smart.

"I swear to God that if you're obsessing over this because you've got a hard-on for Rebecca, I'll kill you," I inform him morbidly although honest. I don't need to get up in the middle of the night to watch Sam score a hook up. I don't need to watch that at anytime, really.

Sam yanks the blanket down from my face, frowning, and asks, "What?" He looks confused and concerned. "I don't have a hard-on for her. Why would you say that?"

I swallow hard, totally unwilling to get into this. "I'm just saying," I lie, pushing the blanket off of me and climbing out of bed. Sam doesn't push me and sits on the edge of the bed. He's already dressed so he has to wait for me to pull on jeans, my boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt. I grab a sweatshirt to bring with us just in case it's cold out; I hate shivering like a child on a hunt.

We get to Zach's as the sun starts to shine, breaking darkness enough so that we don't need flashlights to examine the alley behind the house. There's nothing just outside the door, but on the telephone pole ten feet away I find something. "Blood," I tell Sam who comes over to inspect. He's standing much closer to me than I allow with anyone else. The guys, especially Sam, have taken to ignoring my usual personal boundaries and it doesn't even bother me anymore.

I swallow and try to focus, looking for more. I take the left of the pole, examining the fence, spattering of grass, and ground carefully. Sam takes the opposite direction. When I find nothing after a couple yards, I cross the alley to find out if the killer took a different direction. "I think this trail might end where it starts," Sam admits.

"Killer had to have gone somewhere," I respond, frustrated. Nothing disappears. Before I can think on it any further, the sound of sirens erupting in the area makes me jump. Three police cars rush down the alley side street, lights and sirens going full force. I don't have to ask Sam if we can check it out; he's moving toward the Impala just as I am. We follow the sound of the sirens and find a crowd, ambulances, and police cars gathered a couple blocks away.

They're bringing a woman out on the stretcher, but I can't get a good look at her. Someone is also being arrested.

"I'll chat the crowd, you wanna handle the cops?" I ask him. Sam nods and we split up, looking for basic information. I start at the back and slowly, politely, head through the crowd to join them. "What happened?" I ask the woman beside me.

"He tried to kill his wife," she answers. People never miss a chance to gossip. "Tied her up and beat her."

"Really?" I ask as my stomach churns. That sounds too familiar for me to be comfortable with it. A pattern is good for evidence but bad for the people involved, and I hate adding to the list of victims.

She nods and tells me in a somber voice, "I used to see him leaving for work in the morning. He'd wave and say hello; he seemed like such a nice guy." Just like Zach, this guy doesn't seem like a killer.

I spot Sam heading away from the police and he nods to me, so I slowly make my way back through the crowd to meet him at the Impala. "This is definitely our kind of problem," Sam says decisively.

"What did you find out?" I ask him, curious about how he's so sure. Sam has been involved personally in the case from the start but he's been just as unsure about whether we were involved in a civilian issue.

"I talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene," he answers. "Same scenario as Zach's house."

"Yeah, and apparently Zach's story is similar," I tell him. "Nice guy, definitely never came off like a killer."

Sam nods and continues, "And they know for sure that this guy, Alex, was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked. But she fingered him and he swears that he saw himself in the house."

"Two places at once," I murmur, brain going a mile a minute now.

"Exactly," Sam nods. "Of course, the police think he's a nut job." Sounds like par for the course with police. If they don't understand, the person who did it is crazy. "Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in the same way…it could be the same thing doing it."

I frown up at Sam and suggest, "Shape Shifter? Something that can make itself look like something else."

He nods thoughtfully as we start to get into the car to speak more privately. "Every culture in the world has Shape Shifter lore. Legends of a creature that can transform into animals or other men."

"Right, skin walkers and werewolves," I agree. "With two attacks just blocks from each other, I think this neighborhood has quite the Shape Shifter problem." I take a breath, knowing it won't be the most pleasant thing to deal with. "We need to come back tonight when the cops are gone and look for more of a trail."

 **…** **That Night…**

We get home in the morning and fill Dean in on what we've found. He agrees that this is a problem for us to handle, not the police. We spend most of the day researching various lore on Shape Shifters. There are more versions than I originally thought, but it's likely that this thing is a skin walker. Dean heads out to grab some fast food for a late-lunch and early dinner before we get back to the scene.

I sit on one of the beds to flip through John's journal. It wouldn't be the first time he had information that we couldn't find anywhere else. Sam is sitting at the table near the window, mostly just gazing out but also glancing at the laptop every once in a while. "Do you really think we should just cut everyone out?" he asks suddenly.

"We? I think Dean and I have already finished that task," I note, not looking at him.

"You know what I mean."

I take a breath and shut the journal. "Sam, did you ever notice that not only do we find trouble but it has a way of finding us? Once you get into this job, the things going bump in the dark start to notice that you're noticing them. At that point, anyone who can't handle themselves is at risk."

"We can protect people," he argues.

"Right, we have the option of being sedentary and spending all our time defending the civilians we like hanging out with," I quip, knowing he's being unrealistic.

Sam is quiet for a moment. "It would have been stupid to marry Jessica," he murmurs finally. He gives a short humorless laugh and continues, "You know, she was always on me about getting close to my family. If I had? She probably would have died sooner. Or come to her senses and left me when she found out the truth."

"That's not necessarily true." I don't believe my own words, but I'm trying to be comforting. "She might have surprised you. Maybe there was hunter inside her, just waiting to bust out."

Sam laughs but says, "No, definitely not. Jess was…sweet." I see the pain in his face at the memory and my heart aches for him. It's obvious that he really loved her, and it must hurt like hell to have seen her die like that. His secret only adds to the pain; we haven't talked about what Bloody Mary said, but he knows that I know. Sam had nightmares about Jessica's death and then it happened. Something is truly out to mess with Sam's head, but he only feels the guilt.

"You couldn't have protected her," I tell him, being as gentle as I can. "We just can't protect everyone we love. That's why we cut them off." I scoff and add, "That's why hunters only ever marry hunters."

"Well if that's the case, me and Dean are gonna have to keep the rest of them away from you," he notes, smiling genuinely now. "Pickins' must be slim out there."

I laugh but snag the TV remote and throw it at him, nearly nailing him in the head until he smacks it away. "You really know how to make a girl feel wanted, Winchester," I tease him.

"Nah, come on," Sam breathes, looking down at the table with almost a shy expression on his handsome face. "You know I'd never let anyone else cuddle with you pathetically all night."

My heart skips at beat at the thought but I joke, "Yeah, you're pretty damn pathetic."

Sam laughs but before he can respond, the door opens and Dean comes in. He's holding several bags of food and the smell of a cheeseburger immediately makes my mouth water. We all scarf down much more food than we should. If I didn't get such a workout on every hunt, I'd be concerned about gaining a couple hundred pounds on our diet.

 _Besides, salads are just weird and I love grease._

After eating, we head back to the second crime scene and park in the alley behind the house. The area is quiet with the cops long gone. Just like with Zach's house, they're pretty sure they have the killer and aren't going to keep searching. It's dark now so we each have a flashlight and move slowly, determined to find a trail this time.

"I picked up a trail here," Dean tells us after a little while. He shines the light on a small bit of blood on the wall. "Someone ran out of the back of the building and headed off this way." Dean walks slowly toward the alley, showing us the blood on the gate. Then he shrugs.

"Just like at Zach's," Sam mutters. "The trail just disappears."

"Any lore talk about these damn things flying?" Dean grumbles.

"No." I walk further into the alley, disappointed and shining my light past Dean. Something catches my eye but on closer inspection, I realize it's just a manhole into the sewer.

When the internal light bulb goes off, I could kick myself.

"There's another way to go," I remind them, shining the beam on the metal. "Down."

"Good thinking, Mack," Dean says, rewarding me with a slap on the back. "Let's go." My heart instantly threatens to seize at the idea.

"Yeah, definitely not going down there," I tell them firmly, backing away. "I'll wait here; can't wait to here what you find."

Sam and Dean, both standing over the manhole, look at me like I've spontaneously grown another head. "You're afraid of sewers?" Sam asks cautiously. Inwardly, I dare one of them to laugh. I'll break his nose.

"No," I snap. "I'm not afraid of anything. I am, however, too damn smart to trap myself in a tiny tunnel underground." The guys exchange glances and I watch them smirk. "I swear I'll kill you both."

Dean shakes his head and says, "You can't stay up here. We're standing in the middle of this thing's hunting ground."

"He's right," Sam agrees. "It'd be stupid to split up before we know what it is or where it lives." My stomach lurches because I know they're right. Small spaces are literally my personal hell, but I'd never forgive myself if something happened to them down there. Or if something happened to me; it would break Jim's heart.

"I hate both of you," I grumble, daring finally to go back to the manhole. Dean lifts the cover and pushes it aside with a loud, high-pitched grating noise that's worse than nails on a chalkboard if you ask me. Sam goes down first and Dean motions for me to go next. There's a ladder with only a couple of rungs before it drops off for a few feet. I can see Sam below me and as I descend, his height lets him easily grasp my hips.

The sudden touch is almost as bad as the underground death trap itself. And yet…it's good, too. It's comforting and makes me feel safer. When I release the ladder, Sam makes sure I have a safe landing. I hate being protected but…there's something nice about it. I move aside, giving Dean some light as he comes down behind me and closes the manhole cover above it. When it's shut, I'm certain I feel the air snap out of the sewer but I know its in my mind. I just have to stay calm; the last thing I need is a panic attack in a sewer on a hunt.

"You know, I'll bet this goes right by Zach's house too," Sam notes as Dean starts moving, taking the lead into the sewer. He's moving east, toward Zach's so I'm sure he was thinking the same thing.

"Yeah, it'd be easy to use the sewer system to get around," I agree. "Panic inducing, just my luck, and disgusting…but easy." I feel Sam put a hand on my shoulder from behind me, comforting me.

Dean stops suddenly and says, "You know, I think you're right." He kneels and turns to the side a bit, allowing us to see a pile of what looks like flesh-colored Jell-O at first glance. He uses a pen from his pocket to lift a bit of it up, the stuff slopping back to the floor with a sickening, wet sound. Hair is attached to several pieces.

"Is that from the victims?" Sam asks.

"You know, it might be a sick thought," I begin, grossed out just by thinking it. "But when the Shape Shifter changes…maybe he sheds." Sam makes a noise like a groan and Dean tosses his pen down, jumping up and away from the puddle of skin.

"That's sick, Mack," he snaps at me, glaring down at the melted flesh like it did something wrong. I shrug, pretty sure I'm right.

A movement behind Dean catches my eye and I quickly lift the beam of my flashlight. The Shape Shifter's eyes flare the same way from a flashlight that they did in camera light. "Dean!" I shout. Dean spins toward it and the thing shoves him suddenly, hard enough to send him flying back into me. I'm half Dean's size so he's definitely taking me down and with both of our momentum coming at him unexpectedly, Sam isn't able to hold strong. He tumbles backward and we all go do, me ending up in a very strange sandwich.

Dean does his best to jump up quickly but the thing was gone in a flash and we aren't prepared for a fight. The best thing to do right now is get the hell out of here. We know, at least, that it's down here so we know where to hunt it. Out of the sewers in the same place we entered, we move quickly toward the Impala. Dean opens the trunk and props it open.

"Please tell me I don't have skin on me," Sam groans from beside me. He turns around slowly, nervous for the answer, and I examine his back and legs.

"No, no skin," I assure him. Really cute butt, but no skin.

"Dad dealt with his fair share of Shape Shifters," Dean tells us, pulling out a box with a latch on it and setting it aside to gather several guns. "And if he taught me one thing, it's that there's one sure way to kill all of them."

I nod and finish, "Silver bullet to the heart." Jim and I took down a werewolf about six months ago; the memory is still fresh.

"Damn right." Dean opens the box, revealing fifty or so handmade silver bullets. I step forward and grab a .38, loading the weapon as the guys do the same. We need to be prepared to take this thing down this time.

Sam's phone starts to ring and he answers, "Hi Becky."

He's put the call on speakerphone, which makes me nervous. I don't need to listen to them flirt before going to kill something. "Where are you?" she asks.

"Near Zach's," Sam answers. "We're just checking some things out."

"Well look, Sam, just stop," Rebecca snaps on the other end. "I really don't need your help anymore." She sounds really hostile.

Sam frowns and asks, "What are you talking about?"

"I told the lawyers that we went to the crime scene," she answers. I drop my head, really disappointed, and Dean smacks a hand to his forehead. This is why we keep civilians out of it.

"Why would you do that?" Sam demands.

"I told them we were with a detective," she continues. "They checked it out and told me that there is no Detective Dean Winchester."

Sam sighs, "Beck – "

"I don't understand why you would lie to me like that," Rebecca shouts, cutting him off.

"We're trying to help," Sam assures her gently.

"It was a sealed crime scene!" she screeches, probably remembering the way the lawyers reamed her out. "This could have ruined Zach's case. So you just stay out of it now. Stay away from me. Goodbye, Sam." We hear the line click on the other end. Sam curses under his breath and shoves his phone back into his pocket. He looks effectively guilty.

"I hate to say it," Dean begins, shutting the trunk now. "But this is exactly what we were talking about. You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked out."

Sam shakes his head and replies sarcastically, "You're right, life would be easier if I was just like you."

Dean shrugs, unaffected. "Hey, like it or not, we are not like other people. But I'll tell you one thing. This whole gig? It ain't without perks."

Not even the gun, firmly secured in my hand, can make me feel better about going back into the sewer tunnels. It doesn't help that Dean and Sam are much more tense and cautious this time, knowing the thing is down here. We move quickly, following the sewer path, and keeping our eyes open for anything. "I think we're close to it's lair," Dean murmurs after a few minutes.

"What makes you say that?" Sam asks from behind me. Dean turns and shines his flashlight beam on another pile of melted skin. This one, though distorted and dripping and disgusting, is most definitely a face. "Oh, God," Sam responds, gagging through the words. I'd make fun of his weak stomach if I wasn't certain that they can hear my heart pounding violently. I'm sweating, nauseous, and at least a little dizzy from being trapped in such a tiny space.

A sound catches my attention and I spin, just in time to find the creature standing behind us. He's still wearing the skin of the last person arrested for his crime. On instinct, I kick my leg straight forward and kick the thing in the gut. It hits the wall but swings back in the next moment, nailing Dean in the shoulder with something that makes a hard, cracking sound. Dean shouts in pain and grabs his arm but the thing starts running. "Go!" he yells.

We chase him and I know I could catch him, but the space is too small for much maneuvering. The manhole we'd closed is open so we give chase through it. "Split up," Dean orders. What would have been stupid an hour ago is now the only plan that makes sense.

I run north, as fast as I can. It's harder to catch little movements at that speed, but I'm looking for some asshole running just as hard as I am. I reach a small square like a park, people milling around casually. He's no where to be found and I'm getting strange looks. I have to hope now that he didn't run this way and Dean or Sam got him. I hurry back toward the Impala to meet them and find Sam approaching from the other direction.

"You okay?" he asks, walking up to me much faster than I expected him to. He grabs my shoulders and looks me over, concern all over his face.

"Sam, I'm fine," I assure him, feeling weird about the way he's acting. I push his hand away and frown at him. "What?" I demand. "I can handle myself."

Sam's face relaxes a bit but he's still frowning. "I know, I know. I just…I don't want anything to happen to you." My stomach flops and I feel my heart skip a beat – I hate that feeling. What the hell?

 _What happened to not having any chick flick moments?_

Dean saves me from having to respond or smack some sense into his brother when he comes jogging toward us. "Hey – anything?"

"No, he's gone," I answer.

"Probably found another way underground," Sam notes.

"Yeah, probably," Dean agrees. He approaches the driver's side of the car and lifts his arm. "You got the keys."

I head for the car but Sam catches the back of my jacket, restraining me not so much that I jerk back but enough that I get the message and stand still. I'm confused but I wait. "Yeah," Sam answers, jingling the keys in his hand. "Hey, didn't Dad once face a Shape Shifter in San Antonio?"

"That was Austin," Dean answers. "And it turned out to be a thought form, not a Shape Shifter. A…psychic projection. Remember?"

Sam hesitates but says, "Yeah, right." I try to keep my face calm, feeling how tense Sam is behind me. Something's going on and he's nervous. Still, he tosses the keys to his brother. Dean catches them easily in right hand and it hits me.

"Don't move!" I shout, pulling the gun out of my waistband quickly and aiming it directly at the thing wearing Dean's skin.

Sam is behind me, holding his own gun. "What the hell did you do with him?" he demands. My heart is pounding again, this time at a much worse fear. The other people whose skin he wore stayed alive, but where the hell is Dean?

"Hey! Chill," Dean's body barks, holding his hands up. "It's me, OK?"

"Where is my brother?" Sam shouts.

"You're about to shoot him," it snaps back in response. "Mack, Sam…calm down."

"You caught those keys with your left," I remind the thing. "Your shoulder was hurt."

The thing gives me the same cocky look that Dean would. "Yeah, it's better. What do you want me to do – cry?"

"You're not my brother," Sam tells it firmly.

It looks directly at Sam and steps around the car, challenging him, "Why don't you pull the trigger them?" I glance at Sam and can see that he's torn. We could shoot Dean here, but neither of us believes it's Dean. Still, Sam is wavering. "You're not sure. Dude, you know me."

He steps toward Sam again and I step toward him this time, leveling the gun at his heart. "Don't," I warn him. The thing hesitates and then glances at me, the streetlights catching his eyes enough to make them glow. My grip tightens around the weapon but he moves with an unnatural speed, lunging for me suddenly. He launches me backward and something breaks my fall, my head smacking it too hard. I hear a gun shot go over and muffled yelling, but my head is spinning and I can't see straight.

"Kenzie!" I hear Sam shout. He sounds distant. There's a weight over me, a darkness. It becomes overwhelming and I don't get a chance to respond to Sam before everything goes dark.

 **…** **Sometime Later…**

I wake with a start, like something had physically shoved me out of my foggy darkness and back into reality. The first thing to come to me is the pain, searing in the back of my head. It makes me wince but it's not even close to the headaches, so I blink through it. I'm on the ground in the alley, leaning against a dumpster. That'd be what hurt so bad when that thing hit me – he's stronger than Dean would have been on his own.

 _Which means Sam and Dean are in serious trouble?_

In the dark I can see I'm alone. Sam is no where to be found; it took him, too. The Impala is gone as well. That thing is going to wish he was dead if he hurts Dean's car. He's going to be dead anyway. I'm going to find my boys and then rip him apart.

When I force myself to my feet, I'm unsteady for a minute. He knocked me around harder than I want to admit and it's gonna hurt for a couple of day. But with Sam and Dean in trouble, I don't care at all. I remember the look on Sam's face when he saw me back in the alley, before it attacked us. He looked terrified that something might have happened to me; right now, I totally understand that look. I was overpowered and if something happened to them, I'd never be able to forgive myself.

My gun is now where to be found still have at least four knives tucked into my waistband as well, so I have enough. I'm not even a little less freaked out about going back into the sewer with adrenaline pumping. It might help mom's lift cars off of their babies, but it doesn't make me feel any less claustrophobic as I drop from the ladder down into the inch or so of disgusting water.

I head in the direction we were moving earlier, moving as quickly as I think might be safe. I'm hoping all of my senses are on high alert, but between my near panic attack and a minor concussion, it's making me more than a little nervous. I move past where we were attacked earlier and keep going, listening for anything. It's a couple miles in when I come upon an opening – a circular room that I guess is used for maintenance.

I hold my knife tight, prepared to at least hurt anything moving. Something catches my eye and I realize it's a jean-covered leg, shifting. I circle around the wide pole, hiding the body attached to the leg, and keep prepared. The sight of Sam makes my heart nearly leap out of my throat. He's tied up but he's in one piece and I throw myself toward him, landing on my knees at his side.

"Oh, shit, Kenzie," he breathes, jumping a little when my sudden appearance startles me. "I didn't know where you were."

"I'm right here," I remind him, using one of my knives to quickly work through his ropes. "Did he hurt you?"

Sam shakes his head and says, "No, I'm fine. Are you OK?"

"That had better be the two of you and not that freak of nature," I hear Dean's voice call out just as I finish freeing Sam. He's tied up against a different pole and looks a little more beat up, but definitely fine. I make quick work of his ropes.

"He was heading off Becky's looking like Dean," Sam tells us.

I'm sure he's got the same plan there that he had for the last two victims and their supposed murderers. Dean seems un-phased for the moment as he stands and quips, "Well he's not stupid; he picked the handsome one."

I ignore him and we head back through the sewers, jogging now. "You know, he didn't just look like Dean," Sam says. "It's like he was you, or at least becoming you."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks.

"I don't know, it was like he could download your thoughts and memories." The tone of Sam's voice makes me wonder exactly what the thing said to him while pretending to be Dean. I glance up at him, a bit of sweat sheening on his forehead and want more than anything just to hug him and tell him how grateful I am that he's not hurt.

"You mean like Vulcan Mind Control?" Dean asks, his nerd showing.

I shake my head to focus as we reach the ladder out of the sewer. "Maybe that's why it kept you alive. Psychic connection or something." Dean goes up first, struggling a little with his beat up shoulder. I head up behind him and pull myself out, Sam following me.

"My car is gone!" Dean shouts like a maniac. I was wondering if that would freak him out as much as I thought it would.

He's probably at Rebecca's already," I note, getting nervous for the girl.

"We have to get to a phone," Sam says, moving toward the end of the alley. "The cops need to get there."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean shouts, rightfully nervous about the plan. "You're going to put out an APB on me?" Sam ignores him and keeps moving. I follow and hear Dean curse behind me but he comes as well. It's not like we have another choice; by the time we make it to Rebecca's, the thing will have killed her. Sam makes the call – anonymously and from a pay phone – and then we get away from it.

It's going to be hard to go anywhere safely now that Dean will be a wanted man. As long as Rebecca is alive, she can give a great description of him. Sam remembered seeing an electronics shop on the way into town with televisions facing the window, so we head over that way. Sure enough the news is on when we get there and a graying man is giving a breaking news report with the headline, 'ATTEMPTED MURDER: MANHUNT'.

The screen is close captioned so we can read, "An anonymous tip led police to a home in the central west end where a squad team discovered a local woman who had been attacked. Her attacker – white male approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age – was discovered hiding in the home. Shots were fired."

"C'mon!" Dean shouts indignantly at the screen. "That's not even a good picture." The sketch must have been done in a hurry because it's not great, but it's definitely Dean.

"It's good enough," I tell him, glancing around. He's recognizable from that sketch for sure.

"Hey, it says attempted murder," Sam points out, always the optimist. "At least we know it didn't kill her." He's got a point. "I should check on Rebecca in the morning." I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"Fine, but I'm going to find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him," Dean growls, marching off down the street.

"Dean, we have no weapons – no silver bullets," Sam reminds him in protest as the two of us hurry to catch up with him.

"Dude! The guy is walking around, wearing my face," Dean retorts angrily. "It's a little personal for me, and I want to find him."

"OK," I agree. "We can start looking in the sewers…but we have no weapons. He stole all of our guns and we need more." I get Dean's point but we need to think rationally here. Dean finally slows just a bit.

"The car?" Sam suggests.

I nod. "I'll bet he drove it over to Rebecca's and the news said he was on foot, so chances are it's still parked there."

"God the thought of him driving my car!" Dean snaps, throwing his arms up in anger and disgust. I roll my eyes and walk past him now. "It's killing me," he shouts at Sam and I as we ignore his tantrum. We start jogging and the three of us make it the six blocks over to Rebecca's in a few minutes. In the alley, just as expected, is the Impala.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief and says, "Oh, there you are." He approaches the car and caresses the hood, murmuring something I'm glad I can't hear to it.

"Finally something right tonight," I mumble, more than a little grateful that we have weapons now. The gun I'd been using earlier sits on the passenger seat and I reach in through the open window to grab it. Before the guys have a chance to even open the trunk, the alley becomes awash in flashing red and blue lights. In every direction, cop cars appear. It was a trap.

 _Of course, the car was a damn trap_.

"Let's go," I shout, running hard toward the nearest fence. We'll lose them in the yards. Dean follows but when I glance back before climbing, I notice Sam is hesitating.

"You guys go," he orders. "I'll hold 'em off."

"Are you crazy?" Dean demands.

"You'll get caught," I snap at him. This is not the time to be the hero; we can't do much if he's in police custody.

"Look, they can't hold me!" he responds confidently. "Just go and keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca's." Sam's going to rely on his pre-law education to get him out of this; he's a smart guy and I don't doubt that he can do it. Really, they have nothing on Sam just because of Dean. I can tell that Dean is hesitating though, so I shove him toward the fence.

We climb it together and bail, running hard for several blocks until we're sure that no one is following us. It goes unspoken that we make our way, as quickly as we can toward the sewers again. We only have one gun and no idea where the skin-walker is, but it doesn't matter. He has to die now, before Dean gets caught or anyone else gets hurt. I jump into the sewer first and Dean follows, closing the cover above our heads. As much as I'd like to just run at the thing, I know that's not wise so I hold the gun steady with Dean beside me as back up.

"I have a question," Dean announces.

I glance over at him, frowning and wondering if this is really the time for conversation. "OK, shoot."

"What's up with you and my brother?" My stomach clenches along with my jaw and I ignore him, choosing not to answer the question that I don't have an answer to. "I mean, the only time he doesn't wake up screaming is he's sleeping with you. He's different with you and you're different with him than you are with me."

"That's just because he's the hot brother," I tease him, earning a rather gentle shot to the ribs. "Seriously, Dean, why are we having this conversation right now? Or at all?"

"Because you were jealous of Rebecca," he accuses me. I blink, not ready to talk about that especially since the poor girl was attacked. "And then Sam got jealous when me and you joking around."

I frown and take my eyes off of our path for the first time, glancing up at him. "You're crazy."

"No, he told me," Dean responds. "Well, actually he asked if I had something going on with you and told me he'd seen us 'flirting'."

"Ew, I do not flirt with you."

"I know that, but Sam thought you did when actually you flirt with them. So what's up with you and my brother? You have a thing for him, yeah?"

"Dean, please!" I snap getting annoyed mostly because I'm starting to feel cornered. "We have work to do right now. We will always have work to do and no time for feelings, especially when Sam is still mourning Jess! So can we please stop having this ridiculous conversation and get back to work?" I demand. "The lair is right up here."

Dean finally shuts up and we continue, pressing forward into the area where I'd found Sam and Dean. I'm expecting the monster to be here, likely still in Dean's skin – unless he's found another victim already. Instead, tied to the same pole Dean was but in significantly worse shape, Rebecca is sitting on the floor.

"Rebecca," Dean calls, going to her with knife in hand. I keep the gun prepared in case the thing is still here but my insides have gone cold. If Rebecca is here, it's because that thing is wearing her skin. As soon as Sam gets away from the cops, he'll be paying a visit to monster-Rebecca. "What happened?" Dean asks her.

"I don't know," she half-whimpers. "I was walking home from the hospital and everything just went white. Somebody hit me over the head and when I woke up, I watched that thing turn into me."

That would explain why she's not afraid of seeing Dean – the person she thought attacked her. Rebecca's figured out the truth of what happened to her and to her brother. Right now, it could be happening to Sam and I'm more than a little anxious to get out of here. "Dean we need to hurry," I urge him while he helps Rebecca off of the floor.

"Can you walk?" he asks her. "Sam went to go see you."

Rebecca takes a cautious step and cries out in pain, grabbing her sides. She should still be in a hospital. We have a decision to make and I know what needs to be done. "Dean, I can't drag her out of here but I can haul ass over to Rebecca's and kill this thing," I tell him firmly.

Dean gives me an anxious look but then I see resolve cross his eyes. "OK. Go." I start running out the way we came as Dean lifts Rebecca into his arms to carry her at a much slower pace. "Mack!" I stop and look back at him. "Do not get killed."

"You're an idiot," I call to him as I turn and keep running. I've figured out this path by memory know and I'm not being cautious on my way out. I do Dean a favor and leave the cover open a bit so that he can get out at least a little easier. As soon as I'm above ground, I'm running my fastest. My heart is pounding along with my head – for different reasons – and I pump my legs hard on the way to Rebecca's where I just know Sam is.

I only slow when I get there, making sure the cops aren't still right there. It looks clear, so I make my way up onto the porch slowly. The element of surprise is going to be my best weapon. Through the living room window, I catch sight of Sam glaring at the thing. It shifted back into Dean's body, probably to better torture his brother. Sam looks a little beat up but he's standing and then, suddenly, he takes a swing at Dean at hits him. There's only a moments pause before the thing swings back at hits Sam, hard.

I've seen enough. I approach the door and line myself up right. I'm not big enough to take down a door with my weight, and I needed more practice to learn this skill. But now, with a well-placed roundhouse kick, I send the door flying open. Strictly by the grace of God, it opens so that the thing in Dean's body is staring right at me. I hold my breath, square my shoulder and fire three times in quick succession even though I only need the first shot. The Shape-Shifter Dean falls to his knees and then onto his face, blood pouring from his chest and mouth.

Sam comes into view and his face fades into utter relief. "Kenzie," he breathes, rushing toward me. I didn't know what to expect on the way over here, so makes me more than a little happy to find him still standing. I let Sam yank me against his chest into a hug and, after just a second of panic, I wrap my arms around his strong frame return the gesture. He smells wonderful and I inhale deeply, needing it to calm down.

"You OK?" I ask, releasing him after a minute but not pulling far away.

"Yeah," he answers with a nod. "Like Dean, that thing really liked to hear himself talk, so he didn't do much attacking." I laugh, grateful for that bit of Dean's personality right now – even if it pissed me off in the sewer. I try not to think about that conversation now, though. "How'd you know it was here?"

"Me and Dean went back into the sewers and found Rebecca," I tell him. "She's OK but he's probably still trying to get her out of there." Sam nods and I turn, heading off of the porch and toward the Impala. I only make it a couple of steps before I feel Sam beside me. He drops an arm over my shoulder and pulls me a little closer. I can't help a smile, sensing his gratitude and feeling really grateful myself that he's alright.

I'm not going down the road Dean attempted to take me on; that's not the right thing for anyone at this point. But I like Sam. Actually, I'm starting to get kind of crazy about him. So I'll do the best thing I can right now; keep him very much alive.

 **…** **Next Morning…**

We head over to Rebecca's the next day to check on her before leaving town. She saw a doctor and she'll be fine, though I wouldn't be surprised if she needed to see a psychiatrist eventually too. She walks all of us out of her house, toward the car, as she breathes, "I can't believe it. I mean, I saw it with my own eyes and I can't believe it."

"It's all pretty unbelievable sometimes," Sam admits.

"Does everybody at school know what you do?" she asks him. He shakes his head with a small, secretive smile. Rebecca hesitates, glancing at me quickly, before she asks, "Did Jessica know?"

Sam swallows and admits, "No, she didn't."

"Wow. That must be lonely." She's talking to all of us and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Nah," Sam answers, looking at Dean and then down at me. "It's not that bad. Besides…it's a family thing." I catch the flash of pride across Dean's face and try not to smile too big myself.

Rebecca smiles like she's trying to be nice but doesn't understand. "Well, you know me and Zach and everyone from school…we miss you."

"Yeah, me too," Sam tells her with a kind smile.

"You should give us a call sometime," she suggests. "Or stop by and visit."

Sam hesitates for a moment and I wonder if he's going to be honest, admit to her that he'll never be in touch or be back. "Maybe," he allows finally. "But…it probably wouldn't be for a long time." Rebecca doesn't push him and thanks all of us before we turn to walk away, letting her get on with her life.

"So what about your friend Zach?" Dean asks.

"The cops are blaming this Dean Winchester guy for the murder," Sam explains. I laugh but Dean rolls his eyes now. "They found the murder weapon in the guy's lair along with Zach's clothes stained with her blood. Now they're thinking the tapes were tampered with, so Zach should be released soon."

We can't ask for a much better ending than that. I climb into the backseat, ready for the road. Before Dean starts the car, he turns to Sam and says, "I am sorry, man."

"About what?"

"I really wish things could be different for you, you know?" he tells him. "I wish you could just be Joe College." I raise my eyebrows, surprised because I know Dean means it. Maybe he has a point, though. Sam did OK outside of this life. He could have been happy.

"No, it's OK," Sam responds with a small shrug of broad shoulders. "You know, the truth is even at Stanford…deep down, I really never fit in."

"That's because you're a freak," I quip earning a laugh from both guys. "And we're freaks, too," I assure him, speaking for both Dean and I.

"Yup," Dean agrees. "We're right there with you, all the way."

Sam smiles genuinely. "Yeah," he says softly. "I know you are." He sounds happy about that and I hope he is.

Dean starts the car and heads for the highway, onto the next thing looking to hurt people. "You know, I'm sad we're gonna miss it," he says after a few minutes. I frown at Dean, mirroring Sam's expression. "It's not everyday someone gets to see their own funeral."

I throw my head back when laughter erupts, the boys quickly joining in. I can't think of a better way to start the next hunt than with tears of laughter flowing from our eyes.


	7. 1x7: Don't Turn On the Lights

I'm seriously tempted to drop my coffee on the chick across the café who is desperately trying to get Sam's attention. "I could make it look like an accident," I tell Dean.

"You totally could," he agrees. "And the coffee is hot; you'd burn her in bad places." That's why I told Dean; I knew he'd support my mission. Dean has been annoying in that adorable way only he can manage in the last few days, pulling off antics like tripping me into Sam's lap and stealing Sam's clothing and towel so that he has to come out of the shower naked. While fun, he obviously has an end game.

I'm not thinking about that end game, but I haven't shut him out as much as I was originally. Dean knows why I'd like to burn the poor girl who is blatantly ogling Sam. Her survival is thanks to the fact that Sam hasn't even seen her. He's on the phone and appears a little disheartened. That would concern me more if I didn't know who he was calling.

Finally he makes his way back toward our table, the blonde girl's face collapsing into a frown that makes me much happier than I want to admit. "Your half-caff double venti vanilla latte is getting cold, Francis," Dean teases his brother.

"Bite me," Sam responds, sitting beside me.

"Anything?" I ask, only because I know he wants us to be interested and hopeful like he is.

He shakes his head, shaggy hair falling onto his forehead. I have to make a fist to stop myself from brushing it off, but Sam does that for me and answers, "I had the FBI check their missing persons' database. No John Doe's fitting Dad's description."

"I'm telling you Dad doesn't wanna be found," Dean says simply with a shrug. I think Dean is right but I reach over and squeeze Sam's hand reassuringly. I know he appreciates it.

"Anyway, check this out," Dean continues enthusiastically. He's reading from the laptop screen. "News item out of Plains Courier, Iowa. It's about a hundred miles from here. Mutilated body was found near the victims car parked on Nine Mile Road

He glances up, like to make sure we're listening, and I tell him, "Keep reading."

"Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer," he reads. "The sole eyewitness, whole name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible." Dean shrugs and adds, "Could be something interesting."

"Could be nothing," Sam counters, strictly for the sake of arguing I'm sure. "One witness who saw nothing doesn't mean it's the invisible man."

"But what if it is?" Dean asks.

I cock my head to the side and challenge them. "Your dad would check it out." Sam gives me a look and narrows his honey-colored eyes a bit, but I don't back down. He sighs, sips his girly drink, and nods. We're going to Iowa after the Invisible Man.

I smile into my coffee, satisfied at having really mastered the art of getting the Winchester boys to follow my lead. "Do you wanna burn the girl real quick before we leave?" Dean asks, giving me a far too sweet to be innocent smile.

"No," I respond in a voice that's just as sweet.

"What?" Sam asks, frowning. "Why would you burn her? Who?"

"Some chick who was checking out your butt," Dean answers. I glare at him, genuinely wishing that looks could kill right now.

Sam gives me a look and a small smile before noting, "Well I do have a pretty cute butt." Dean laughs and I roll my eyes, shoving away from the table. They've mastered the art of teasing me as well so I need to get to the car where I can safely hide my blushing cheeks. They can watch my own cute butt leave 'em behind.

 **…** **Next Day, University of Iowa…**

The college campus is really the only thing in Plains Courier, Iowa which is true of so many of the big colleges we've driven through and past. Out of town, it's just cornfields and farmhouses. The community is quiet and deals with very little violent crime. The victim here was a student of the university so, of course, they released a statement about mourning the loss as a community. The true blessing of this crime being here is that we're unlikely to need fake IDs.

Dean pulls the Impala up out front of a large home that was probably once a single family mansion and is now a fraternity house, based on the Greek letters fashioned to the front. "This is where the victim lived," he tells us. "I figure we just tell 'em we're visiting and ask around."

"What about Kenzie?" Sam asks. "She's not exactly fraternity type."

I groan, already seeing Dean's plan. "I get to be the tag-along girlfriend again. Great."

I shove open the back door to get out as Dean calls, "Yeah, but you get to be Sammy's tag-along girlfriend." I don't dare respond but feel my heart skip a beat at the suggestion. Dean is such a jerk sometimes. Still, it's not the worst thing in the world to have Sam get out of the car and slip is hand into mine, our finger entwining easily.

"Nice wheels," one of the guys standing around out front of the house calls to Dean. He smiles like a proud mother as we approach.

"I know," he responds. "We're your fraternity brother from Ohio," he announces with a smile. "New in town – transfers – and we're looking for a place to stay."

The guy welcomes us all pretty quickly and doesn't question Sam about his girlfriend. I don't catch his name but we follow him inside and he gives us directions up to an available room. Sam keeps hold of my hand as we climb the grand staircase to the second floor. The room he sent us to is not empty; instead there's a guy standing in the middle of the room, wearing only shorts that are way too short. Every bit of visible skin is covered in purple paint and, as evidenced by the can of paint and brush he's holding, he's not done.

Purple man pauses and looks over at us. "Who are you?"

Dean smiles brightly and walks into the bedroom as if he's always belonged there. "We're your new roommates."

"Oh, then do me a favor?" Purple man asks. "Get my back. Big game today." I grimace at the thought of painting this nearly naked man.

"He's the artist," Dean says, pointing at Sam. "The things he can do with a brush." I bite my lip to keep from smiling as Sam's face goes a little pale. He forces a smile that looks kind of terrified and releases my hand to take the brush and paint from the frat boy.

Dean makes himself at home, plopping down on the empty bed. I lean against the desk instead. I don't actually want to touch anything that lives in a house full of unsupervised twenty-something boys. I've seen what Dean can do in a hotel room after just a couple nights. "So man, is it true?" Dean asks, getting right to business.

"What?"

"We heard one of the guys here got killed last week," he replies.

Purple Man's face falls a little. "Yeah," he responds, sadly.

"What happened?" I ask cautiously, hoping that I sound like I'm sad for them. He glances over at me for a little too long and I watch Sam's face fade into a frown.

"They're saying some psycho with a knife," he tells us. "Maybe a drifter passing through or something. Rich was a good guy."

"Rich was with somebody, right?" Sam asks. It's the witness we really need to know about.

Purple Man's face brighten and he gives a short laugh. "Not just anybody. He was with Lori Sorenson."

"Who?" Dean asks. Before an answer, he quickly tells Sam, "Hey, you missed a spot down low." Sam shoots daggers at his brothers but continues painting the almost naked man diligently.

"Lori's a freshman," Purple Man explains. "She's a local and she's super hot. And get this – she's the reverend's daughter." Only in the land of men does that make someone a prize and not just a person. I try not to let my disgust shine through. What's important is that we might have a way to get closer to Lori.

"You wouldn't happen to know what church, would you?" Sam presses. When we have a name and the Purple Man is sufficiently Purple, we make our way across town and toward the Episcopalian church where Lori Sorenson's dad is the reverend. They're having a memorial service today and there's quite a crowd in the church. We slip in quietly, taking seats in the last pew.

"Our hearts go out to the family of this young man," the reverend is saying from his pulpit. He's on the shorter side, balding with gray hair above his ears. Behind him is a picture of the victim with dozens of flowers surrounding it. "And my personal prayers of thanks go out, as I believe Rich died trying to protect my daughter."

He motions to a brunette girl sitting in the first pew. She looks young and is pretty but pretty obviously shaken up. Her face is ashen and I wonder when she slept last. The reverend continues, "And now, as time heals all our wounds, we should reflect on what this tragedy means to us as a church, as a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passing. So, please, let us pray for peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children."

The entire church bows their heads in silent prayer. Sam and I follow suit but Dean doesn't catch on, head up and looking around. I elbow him, making him jump, and he rolls his eyes to Heaven before following the motions. I seriously doubt he's praying but I take the opportunity; being in a church makes me think of Jim so I pray that he's safe and doing as well as he tries to convince me that he is. I think he's a little lonely, in truth. I squeeze my eyes shut harder and ask God to make sure Pastor Jim is happy.

When the services are over, we hang back for a few minutes so that Lori has a chance to thank the dozens of people who want to hug her. I have a feeling that she only knows a couple of them. When the crowds finally disperse, we make our way toward Lori who is hugging a tall and very pretty light skinned girl. Sam casually drops an arm over my shoulder and pulls me into his side. I don't protest because it's part of our cover and because I love it.

"Are you Lori?" Sam asks as we reach her. She smiles sweetly and nods, likely expecting more condolences. "My name is Sam. This is my brother Dean, and my girlfriend Kenzie. We just transferred here."

Lori nods and says, "I saw you guys come inside."

"We don't want to bother you," I assure her, certain she's exhausted. "We heard about what happened, and we wanted to say how sorry we are." She gives a polite nod but I know she'll need more to trust us so I continue with the truth. "We, um…kind of know what you're going through. We've all seen bad things happen…people get hurt."

Lori's expression softens and she takes a shaky breath. Just then, the reverend approaches and touches his daughter's arm. "Dad, this is Sam, Kenzie, and Dean. They're new students."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Sam tells him.

Dean continues, "I must say, that was an inspiring sermon." He's full of shit, of course – I doubt he heard a single word. But the reverend buys it and that's all that matters.

"Thank you," Reverend Sorenson says with a warm smile. "It's always nice to meet young people who are open to the Lord's message."

Dean jumps at the opportunity to distract him and steps forward. "We're actually new in town," he explains, slipping his arm around the reverend's shoulder and guiding him away. I hear him lying about looking for a place to worship as they walk away.

"Lori, what are the police saying?" I ask. I doubt we have a lot of time and I don't want anything to interrupt us, so I want to get down to business.

"They don't have a lot to go on," she answers sadly. "I think they blame me for that, really."

I frown and ask, "What do you mean?"

"My story," she explains. "I was so scared. I guess I was seeing thing." In my experience, when someone convinces themselves that they were just seeing things, whatever they actually saw is the truth. People don't want to believe in what's out there so they convince themselves and each other that they're crazy or confused.

"Lori," I say, getting her to look me in the eye. "That doesn't mean it wasn't real." That's really all it takes before Lori tells her tale and makes me very, very glad we traveled to Iowa. We thank her as her dad and Dean start to return and move away from the crowds.

"Do you believe her?" Sam asks quietly. I can tell my the urgency of his tone that he does.

I nod and answer honestly, "I do."

"Yeah, I think she's hot, too," Dean chimes in, unaware of her story or of our conversation.

Sam quickly recounts some of the highlights of Lori's side of what happened to Rich. "She heard scratching on the roof, and then found his bloody body suspended upside down over the car," he explains.

"Bloody body suspended?" Dean repeats, his eyes widening with a little interest and a little disbelief. I know the feeling. "That sounds like – "

"The Hook Man legend," the three of us say in unison, all of our brains traveling to the story we've heard hundreds of times. Every kind in America knows the legend, thanks to sleepovers, swapping scary stories, and a low-budget b-list movie when we were younger. It's one of the most famous urban legends.

Dean frowns and asks, "You don't think we're dealing with _the_ Hook Man?"

I shrug my shoulders as we near the car. "Every urban legend has a source. There's always a place where it all began." Dean raises his eyebrows and seems to consider the possibility through the skepticism. I realize it's ridiculous, but we've dealt with plenty of ridiculous.

"I'd bet the Hook Man isn't really a man at all," Sam says. "An invisible killer, the tire punctures and scratches? It's probably some kind of spirit."

"Whatever it is, we need to do some research on this quiet little town," I tell them, not admitting that I'm kind of excited about it. I've always been into urban legends, their origin stories, and the truth behind them. We could be facing one of the most famous right here and we could put an end to something notoriously bloody.

Dean takes us to the county library – also shared as the university library – and we explain that we're law students to the librarian. She directs us to a table and disappears, returning with a cart and at least a dozen big, over packed boxes. "Here you go," she says cheerily. "Arrest records back to 1851." That year is simply the year the town was founded and I'm suddenly a little grateful it's not older.

"Thanks," Sam says, grabbing a box and dropping it into the table. I slide it towards me as he takes another for himself. Dean looks annoyed.

"This is how you spent four good years of your life?" he asks Sam, staring at his brother like he's just figuring out how crazy he is.

Sam laughs a little and replies, "Welcome to higher education."

 **…** **5 Hours Later…**

It's been a very long day. Some of the records are barely legible, some cases were investigated for far too long. Dean's periodic moans and complaints don't help. When a case catches my eye however, I'm suddenly much less tired and I barely even hear him anymore. After a quick scan, I decide I'm definitely on to something.

"Check this out," I call to the guys. They both stop what they're doing or reading and look up at me expectantly. "A preacher named Jacob Carnes was arrested for murder. He was so angry about the red light district in town that in one night, he murdered thirteen prostitutes." Dean shifts a little closer, looking at the file.

I continue, "Some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood, other suspended upside down from the limbs of trees. He claimed to do it as a warning against sins of the flesh."

"Nice," Sam grimaces.

"Yeah and get this," I press on. "The murder weapon? Apparently the preacher lost his hand in an accident as a kid; he had it replaced with a silver hook."

"Holy shit, is that where it all happened?" Dean asks, pointing down to a picture in front of me. I nod solemnly and Dean looks up to tell Sam, "Same place where the frat boy was killed."

We're all moving quickly after that. Well, after we pack all the records back into boxes, despite Dean's protests that we should just leave the mess. He leaves a mess everywhere he goes, so it doesn't really surprise me. We make our way back to the Impala, shrouded by nightfall now, and Dean open the trunk. He pulls out two shotguns and hands one to each of us.

"Dean, if it's a spirit, buck shot isn't going to do any good," Sam notes. Dean picks up one of the shells he's loading his own shotgun with and shakes it. I frown at the strange rattling noise.

"Rock salt," he explains simply.

I nod, catching on and impressed. "Salt being a spirit deterrent. That's kind of brilliant." I definitely need to share this tip with Jim; it'll help keep him safe while I'm gone.

Dean smiles and says, "It won't kill him, but it'll slow him down."

"That's pretty good," Sam admits, joining Dean and I in loading the shotguns. We all pack extra shells as well. "You and Dad think of this?"

"I told you – you don't have to be a college boy to be a genius," Dean quips. I laugh but roll my eyes and climb into the car. We make the drive to Nine Mile Road and Dean coasts the car quietly under a bridge and off the side. I know he's thinking of whether or not the Hook Man will scratch his car. We split up a little, taking our own routes and each of us wielding a shotgun and pockets full of rock salt-filled shells.

I come across the sign for Nine Mile Road and run my hand along the scratches, finding them much deeper than could have been done by nearby tree branches. There's definitely something here. The chill and weird fog don't go unnoticed either. I hold the shotgun a little tighter. Lights flash several yards to my left and I hear a man's voice shout in an authoritative tone, "Put down the gun, now! Now!"

I'd recognize a cop's tone and words anywhere. _Shit_.

I make my way in that direction, moving as quickly as I can without attracting attention to myself. "Hands behind your head!" someone shouts.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I hear Sam protesting. My stomach drops when I realize they've caught Sam.

"Get on your knees!" I get as close as I can, just in time to see Sam behind pushed down onto his stomach so that three cops can handcuff him, one grabbing the shotgun he'd been caught with.

"Hey," Dean whispers, appearing behind me. "They'd better not take my car." I shove my elbow back into Dean's stomach, smiling when it earns a groan from him that the cops didn't hear. It takes minutes for them to pile Sam into the back of a squad. He glances up only as they're pulling away and gives us a nod.

"What the hell do we do now?" I ask, turning to face Dean.

"First we get back to my car," Dean says, nudging me along. "And the hell away from Hook Man for now." He's got a point there. We hurry back to the car and start driving away from Nine Mile Road. Dean gets out his cell phone and dials, quickly saying, "Hi can I be connected to the Plain Courier Police Department? Thank you."

"What are you doing?" I ask him, confused.

Dean flashes a smile and announces, "I'm gonna save Sam's ass." He puts on his serious face as someone apparently answers the call. "Yeah, my name is Dean. You guys just arrested one of my fraternity brothers down at Nine Mile Road." I hear the man on the other end raise his voice and Dean winces a little.

He nods to himself and continues, "Yes, Sir, I understand but it was just a mistake. It was a hazing prank gone wrong. No, I know he was holding a shotgun but if you unload it, you'll find that it's filled with rock salt shells. Well, he was ghost hunting, sir. Yes, sir, I do know how stupid that is. Yes, sir, I do know that there's no such thing as ghosts."

I can't help laughing and cover my mouth so that the police don't hear me. Dean looks like he wants to hurt someone while he's chastised by the cop on the other end. "I understand, yes and I think a fine is more than reasonable. In the morning? Yes, sir, I'll be there. Thank you." Dean hangs up the phone and then groans, "Son of a bitch is charging us two hundred dollars in fines!"

"That's the most ridiculous excuse you've ever come up with," I tell him. "Ghost hunting?"

"It's not an excuse – it's the truth," Dean reminds me. "It's not my fault that everyone else thinks it's ridiculous. Anyway, we can pick Sammy up when we pay it in the morning."

"Great," I say genuinely, glad Sam will only have to spend one night in a holding cell. I'm sure he'll be just fine. "What do we do tonight?" I ask. "I can't exactly stay in the frat house."

"Let's go see where we can find a room," he suggests, turning onto one of the main drags. "Hey, you'll get your own bed tonight! And no one gets woken up by crying through nightmares."

I frown at Dean and scold him, "That's not nice. You know the nightmares are really all but gone now…and you shouldn't be a dick to him about it anyway." Dean just makes a face and shrugs his shoulders. He plays it off but I know that the idea of being mean to his brother – whether intentionally or not – bothers him. Sam takes everything Dean says to heart and I wish Dean would choose his words more carefully sometimes. I worry about the two of them and their relationship. I think Dean would worry too if he had the conversations I did with Sam in the middle of the night, wondering if he'll ever be permitted to grow up.

I try not to think about that for now. We need to get some rest and then pick Sam up in the morning. "Hey," Dean says after a minute. He flashes a smirk in my direction and suggests, "Pizza?"

With two appetites the size of our left alone – and no guys that I'm into around to make me chastise myself for binging – Dean and I do more eating than we do resting. When we do finally get to bed, I find that Dean was completely wrong when he assumed I'd be happy about the sleeping arrangements for tonight. Without the overly tall hunter in my bed, I'm lonely. I never would have shared a bed a few months ago. Now, I miss him.

 **…** **Morning…**

We get to the police station first thing in the morning. Dean pays the fine and then comes back outside to wait with me. I hop up onto the hood of the Impala and rest the heels of my sneakers on the grill. Dean, leaning on the car next to me, turns to give a disapproving stare. "I'm too little to really hurt her," I advise him, caressing the hood because I know if I'm nice to Baby it'll shut Dean up.

He turns his head but I catch his smirk. It's only a moment later when a bewildered Sam is allowed to leave through the side of the building where we're parked. "We saved your ass and paid a fine," Dean announces, obviously proud of himself.

Sam looks at me to confirm it and I shrug my shoulders innocently. His rescue was all on Dean. "How?"

"Told them you were a dumb ass freshman who got sent ghost hunting as part of a hazing ritual," Dean tells him. "Typical hell week."

"And they believed you?"

Dean shrugs and teases, "I guess you look like a dumb ass freshman." Sam narrows his eyes but says nothing else. I'm just grateful to see him. Before I have the chance to tell him that, the door to the police station open again. Several officers, including the guy who appears to be the chief, come running out. We stand still and watch them jump into squad cars, turn on lights and sirens, and speed off.

It doesn't take long for us to figure out what's happened. A sorority house, every cop in the country, several ambulances, and a body bag. It's too much to assume this isn't related to the murder a couple of nights ago, so we're definitely checking it out. With the Impala parked a couple of blocks away for safety, we approach the house from the alley behind it and hop the low cement wall where we can get in without attracting attention.

Two girls walk out of a side door, about twenty feet from us, but they don't notice us pressed against the back wall. "Dude!" Dean squeaks, beaming. "Sorority girl. Think we'll see a naked pillow fight?"

I ignore him and roll my eyes, spotting our entrance to the second floor where it's easy to assume the bedrooms are. I tap Sam's shoulder and point to the trestle leading up to a small balcony and an open window. He nods and goes first, long body making the climb easily. Dean motions for me to follow and I do, climbing to the top of the trestle and still having two feet of empty space above me before the balcony. My arms would never reach without Sam leaning over, grabbing my elbows and pulling slowly while I walk my feet up the wall. He guides me over the wall and I, shamefully, take advantage by falling into him a little. My hands land on firm, rolling abs and I am not ashamed of enjoying it.

"I couldn't sleep at all last night," Sam admits, speaking very softly both because of our situation and because Dean is climbing up to join us. "You've ruined me for sleeping without you."

"I know what you mean," I agree. "It's easier to block out Dean's snoring when I can just hide under you." Sam laughs softly as Dean's head appears. It feels good to know that he missed me. I duck under the top window and slip through easily – much easier than the tall guys who follow me in. We've entered a small bedroom that is definitely not the crime scene. Across the hall though, a cop leaves a room with a strip of caution tape strapped across the door.

We wait for him to go downstairs and pause for a moment, making sure no one else is around. Quickly, we dash across the hallway and into the room without touching that caution tape. I freeze as soon as I get into the bedroom and Sam nearly crashes into me from behind. The wall on the other side of the room is painted in blood, making my feet suddenly heavy.

"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?" Sam reads. "That's right out of the legend."

"Yeah, that's classic Hook Man," Dean agrees, stepping around us. I come to my senses and look elsewhere in the room. There are two beds in the room and one is absolutely covered in blood, as well as the floor under and around it.

"So why would the Hook Man come all the way out here?" Sam wonders aloud. "This is a long way from Nine Mile Road."

"Maybe he's not haunting the scene of the original crime," I muse, daring to get closer to the blood-painted wall for a better look. "Maybe it's about something else." I find the sign I'm looking for quickly and go into my pocket for a picture I know is there to check. "Hey, look."

I step aside and motion to the wall where a symbol is painted. Above it I hold the picture I've brought of Jacob Carnes hook. They symbol on the hook is exactly the same as that on the wall. "It's definitely the same symbol," Dean affirms. "Which means it's definitely the spirit of Jacob Carnes, so we find the dude's grave, salt and burn his bones."

"It's not going to be that simple," I warn him, reading from the description under the picture of the hook. "After execution, Jacob Carnes was laid to rest in Old North Cemetery in an unmarked grave."

Now Dean's face falls and he grumbles, "Super."

"So we know it's Jacob Carnes, but we still don't know where he'll manifest next," Sam observes. "Or why." He has a point and that is very unnerving. Spirits are usually trapped to one place, making it easier to hunt them – while, admittedly, easier to be hunted in return. This one is apparently traveling and that means extra work for us.

"I'm going to take a wild guess on why," Dean says. I look over and find him holding a picture of the victim with Lori Sorenson. "I think hot little Lori has something to do with this."

We make our way back to the fraternity house for a nearby, comfortable place to relax. The Purple Man is out of the room because he's busy preparing for a house party in the afternoon. It takes all of three seconds for Dean to decide that's how he's spending his day, and he disappears from the bedroom. I sit down on one of the mattress, grabbing the laptop to get starting on research. Sam sits beside me but grabs one of the pillows and lays down. With his head presses against my leg, most of his long legs hand over the end of the bed but he sighs happily and closes his eyes.

"Didn't get much rest last night?" I ask. His hair looks so soft; I've always wanted to run my hands through it but always talk myself out of it.

"None," he answers with a small frown marring his brow. "The only bench was occupied by a football player who was sleeping off his alcohol poisoning. And I kept wondering if Hook Man was going to snag you guys."

I laugh and tell him, "Dean made us run away before Hook Man or the cops could get to the Impala." Now Sam laughs and shakes his head a little. He rolls onto his side, facing the wall that I'm leaning on behind us. I feel one of his hands slip behind me, touching my lower back gently. Even innocent touch makes my heart race this days, so I try to ignore it.

We're quiet for a few minutes as I start research, beginning with the Sorenson family to see if anything stands out there. There has to be a reason that Jacob Carnes' spirit has attached himself to this girl; spirits work on a series of rules and restrictions – they can only do certain things, are deterred by some things, are killed specific ways. Unlike humans, spirits are usually predictable. There is always reason with spirits.

I start to believe that Sam has fallen asleep as music begins playing from the floors below us. "Hey Kenzie?" he murmurs.

"Hmm?" I answer, reading through records on Reverend Sorenson and his family. The mom died, but it seems totally natural and they're coming up clean so far.

"Did you and Jim ever learn anything about your birth family?" he asks. My throat tightens a little at the mention of the family who ditched me. The vision of the scars on my shoulders comes to mind to; they're the only things we know I was born with and they've continued to grow.

"No," I answer. "I never really tried, though. We assume they weren't Brazilian, based solely on my genetic obviousness." Sam laughs and I say it as a joke although it's true. I'm cursed with perpetually pretty pale skin and the round face and eyes that suggest Irish more than Brazilian or even Portuguese. My dirty blonde wavy hair would stand out if I returned to my birth city of Sao Paolo now.

"Do you remember any of it – your time in Brazil?" he asks. "I mean, you got adopted really young right?"

I nod and tell him while I keep on with my research, "Yeah, I was three. I remember bits and pieces but mostly like the heat and always feeling really crowded."

"Thus your whole thing with small spaces," he teases, a small smile coming over his handsome face with eyes still closed. I laugh and roll my eyes at him even though he can't see. He might have a point, though. "How did you end up with a Pastor from Minnesota?"

I laugh at the million dollar question that I've asked myself and Jim at least a million times. "Jim is always kind of vague about it," I admit. "He was in Brazil on a hunt, near the orphanage. He just says he was called to visit and then drawn to me." I wave a hand dismissively and continue, "When he starts talking about fate I usually start blocking him out. He knows that, of course, so when he doesn't want to answer my questions he gets all existential on me."

Now Sam laughs and I can feel him shake his head at me. The conversation is making me miss Jim a bit, even though we spoke briefly this morning. It's hard to be away from family. Of course, that's why Sam and Dean are here and how I ended up with them; we're trying to put their family back to together…though it seems at least one person doesn't want to be there. "Do you ever think about researching your history?" he asks after a long pause.

"Why the sudden interest in my family life?" I ask now, feeling like I need to shut this conversation off before it makes me uncomfortable. I keep my tone amiable though because I'm sure Sam isn't trying to be invasive or make me feel like I need to share secrets.

Sam suddenly shifts, leaning up on his elbow and looking at me so that we're almost eye to eye. "Because you know almost everything about us and you never talk about yourself," he observes, honey-colored accusing but in a playful way. "Besides…you're, uh…well you seem pretty great." The way his smiles fades into a shy nervousness is just about the cutest thing. The guy really melts me; damn him.

I swallow and go with a joke. "Plus, we haven't slept in separate beds in a couple weeks now so you might as well know my middle name?" Sam laughs freely, his head falling back with the expression. His laughter is contagious so I can't help joining in, finally letting myself be distracted from research. The laughter slows naturally and Sam glances at me oddly one more time before laying down again.

I take a breath, ignoring his hair and handsome face and the way talking to him makes me happy. It's like I told Dean: there's work to do. I focus on the computer and my research. There are more important things than a stupid crush to deal with right now.

After several hours, my eyes are starting to dry out. I wonder if I've just stopped blinking altogether. When the family came up clean, I started looking into the town and the church. What's really getting to me, though – the reason I haven't looked away from the computer in hours – is the connection to Lori Sorenson. She's a good kid, no record, good grades. Why is something so evil hooked on her?

I jump a little when the door bangs open suddenly and the noise combined with the sudden movement of his pillow wakes Sam who sits straight up. Dean struts into the room, slamming the door shut behind him and shutting out most of the music and chatter from downstairs. He points a finger at Sam and accuses, "You've been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome."

I scoff at him and shake my head. Dean fits right in here. I'm sure the girl's downstairs didn't mind having him around either, all green eyes and bad boy in his leather jacket. Sam stretches his arms over his head and replies, "Yeah, this wasn't really my experience."

"Let me guess," Dean begins, giving his brother a disappointed look. "Library, studying, Straight a's?" Sam just shrugs and Dean scoffs at him. "What a geek."

"Jerk," Sam responds, earning a playful wink from his big brother.

Dean looks at me and notes, "It looks like you've been doing your homework, too."

"Yeah, this has been bugging me," I admit. "I think I came up with something for why the Hook Man is tied to Lori." Dean shuts up finally, interested, and Sam turns toward me to listen. "There was another Hook Man-type thing in this town; a devout man who went a rampage. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly spoke against immorality and then found himself wanted for killings. They both claimed that the killing were the work of an invisible force – killings carried out by sharp instruments."

"OK I see the pattern, but not the connection to Lori," Dean says.

Sam gives his brother a look and explains, "A man of religious who preaches against immorality. Except this time instead of trying to save the whole town, he's only trying to save his daughter."

I see the light bulb click on and Dean mutters, "Reverend Sorenson."

"Do you think he's summoning the spirit?" Sam asks me, frowning.

"Maybe," I answer with a shrug. "Or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place? The spirit might be latching onto the reverend's repressed emotions, feeds off of them, without the reverend having any idea."

"Crap," Dean mutters. He takes a breath and stands. "Lori isn't here; she's home at her Dad's house tonight. Sam, you should go over there and keep an eye on her."

I try not to respond or feel anything at the idea of Sam keeping an eye on the girl that Dean refers to as 'Hot Little Lori'.

"What are you guys gonna do?" Sam asks.

"Me and Mack have an unmarked grave to find."

 **…** **2 Hours Later…**

I wasn't thrilled about splitting up with Sam and dropping him off at the reverend's house. Someone needed to keep an eye out for Lori, though, and Sam will be safe if left alone. Besides, Dean isn't the most patient person in the world. He's barely grazing through the cemetery ahead of me, glancing at headstones quick, and leaving me to actually search. We'd never find the grave if he was here alone.

It takes a while this way and I start to get frustrated as I near the back end of the cemetery. Finally, I find what I'm looking for. A small headstone that isn't made of the same marble as all the others. It's gray, like it might just be plain rock, and looks as if it were made in a hurry. There's no marking, not even a simple cross. This must be it. "Dean, over here," I call to him.

Dean hurries back to me and joins his flashlight beam with my own. "Looks the appropriate thing for a preacher turned murderer," he murmurs, dropping the duffel bag he's carrying. He kneels and pulls out the first of two shovels, handing it to me. We stand on opposite sides of the grave and start to dig, meeting in the middle when we've arranged a space big enough for a coffin. Then, it's time to dig deeper and we do, forming a pile of loose dirt nearly as tall as I am.

Suddenly, the tip of Deans shovel hits something that makes a loud cracking sound. I look up to find that he's gone right through the coffin without even knowing it was there. He looks at me and murmurs, "Oops."

I shrug and shove down hard with my shovel, finding that I break through the old wood just as easily. Dean catches on and we quickly work through the top of the coffin, exposing the bones. Dean climbs out and reaching a hand down to me. I grasp his wrist and let him help me out of the hole. Dean's cell phone starts ringing and I motion for him to answer it while I finish up.

I open our container of salt and use the whole thing, covering all of the bones with it. Lighter fluid is next and I hold my breath because no matter how often I deal with this stuff, the smell still makes me nauseous. I grab the pack of matches and strike one, tossing the small flame into the grave. All of the fluid catches instantly and I listen to the distinctive crackle of old bones on fire for a moment. The fire will put itself out when everything is done, so I start packing up.

"Son of a bitch," Dean curses, hanging up his phone. "Sam's at the police station; Reverend Sorenson was attacked."

"Shit, what?" I demand, my stomach dropping. "Are they holding him?"

"No," Dean answers, kneeling to help me get the shovel back into the duffel bag quickly. "He says they're taking a witness statement but wants us to come pick him up."

We race out of the cemetery and then towards the police station in the Impala. Dean and I take the front door this time and I spot Sam at the end of a long hallway, standing with a cop. "Sam!" I call to him. He looks up at us, relief in his eyes but frustration as well. Dean and I start toward him but two cops immediately jump in our way.

"No, it's OK," Dean tells them. He points toward Sam and says, "That's my brother. Hey, brother!" he calls. The cop he's standing with notices us now and nods to the others. They step away as Sam heads toward us.

He reaches us and the three of us head toward the exit immediately. "Are you OK?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he answers with a short nod.

"What the hell happened?" Dean demands as we get outside and can talk safely.

Sam's face goes somber as he answers, "Hook Man."

"You saw him?" Dean clarifies as my heart misses a beat.

"Damn right," he answers. "Why the hell didn't you guys torch the bones?"

"We did," I assure him. "Are we still sure it's the spirit of Jacob Carnes?"

Sam nods. "It sure as hell looked like him. And that's not all; I don't think the spirit is latching onto the reverend."

"Well, yeah, the guy wouldn't send Hook Man after himself," Dean agrees as we climb into the Impala.

"I think it's latching onto Lori," Sam tells us, his voice urgent. "Last night she found out that her father is having an affair with a married woman." It occurs to me that instead of just watching the house, Sam was hanging out with Lori.

 _That's so not important; what the hell is wrong with me?_

"So?" Dean asks.

"So, she's upset about it," Sam answers. "She's upset about the immorality of it. She says she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished for it."

I blink, catching on to what he's telling us. "She's conflicted and the spirit of Preacher Carnes is latching onto her emotions, doing the punishing for her."

Sam nods and Dean adds, "Rich came on too strong, Taylor tried to make her into a party girl, Daddy is having an affair." He shakes his head and quips, "Remind me not to piss this girl off."

"OK but still, we burned those bones," I remind them. "It should have stopped him. We must have missed something."

"No, we burned everything in that coffin," Dean argues. He's right; we did get everything in the coffin. It occurs me, though, that something was missing from the coffin.

I close my eyes in frustration and hear Sam say at the same time that I do, "The hook."

"The hook?" Dean repeats, frowning.

"It was the murder weapon," Sam notes.

"And in a way it was like part of him," I add. "He did have his hand replaced with it. So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power."

Dean blinks and concludes, "So if we find the hook, we stop the Hook Man." He revs the engine and hurries back to the frat house. I wait in the car while the guys hurry in and grab all of our stuff. Sam jumps into the backseat with me and hands over my laptop, using his own as well.

I know exactly what I'm looking for so I find it quickly. "Here's something, I think," I tell him. "The log book records from Iowa State Penitentiary." I read, "Carnes, Jacob; personal effects, disposition thereof."

I keep scanning the awkward pictures of old records. "Does it mention the hook?" Sam asks.

"Not specifically," I answer. I continue reading, "Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner's house of worship, St. Barnabas Church."

"Isn't that were Lori's father preaches?" Dean asks, turning slightly in his seat to look back at us.

"Yeah, and where Lori and her father live," Sam adds. "That's why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverend's daughters."

Dean shakes his head. "If the hook where at the church or Lori's house, don't you think someone would have noticed? I mean, a blood-stained, silver-handled hook?" He's got a point.

"I'll check church records," Sam says, already typing. After a few clicks he reads, "St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary." He face falls as he says, "Reforged. They melted it down and made it into something else."

Dean pulls off from the curb, his destination set in mind. "OK. Then we burn anything that even looks like it might be silver."

 **…** **1 Hour Later, St. Barnabas…**

We arrive at the small church and home that belong to St. Barnabas and, right now, to the Sorenson family. It also belongs, in a weird way, to Pastor Jacob Carnes.

 _Until we burn the rest of this bitch_.

We stand in the middle of the yard between the house and church, both buildings dark as it's nearly midnight. "Lori is still at the hospital," Sam informs us. I hope he knows that just from looking at the totally dark house, but I wonder if they've gotten friendly enough that he's spoken to her.

I take my mind off of it and nudge Dean with my shoulder. "Take your pick," I tell him.

"I'll take the house," he says. I nod and we cross in front of one another. Sam follows me without being asked which is fine with me. When it comes to work, I'd take either guy as a partner. There's really no team I'd rather be with, but I'll never tell them this.

"Hey," I shout back to Dean, turning and taking a couple steps backward. "Stay out of her underwear drawer.

Dean laughs and waves me off, continuing toward the house. Sam chuckles beside me as we head for the side door of the church. We choose this one because it's the most secluded and find that we're lucky; it's unlocked. It's quite a bit different from the way Pastor Jim kept his church. "I feel bad for Lori," Sam admits as we head for the church office, ransacking it for anything that might be silver.

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep my jealousy at bay.

"She watched her dad get attacked last night," he responds. "After her date and one of her good friends. She's got to realize by now that this has something to do with her."

"Maybe she'll stop being so judgmental," I mutter. Sam stops and I feel his eyes on me. I'm not backing down. "C'mon, it's true. She's so angry at other people for the choices they make that an angry spirit is able to latch onto her. That generally requires a lot of anger, and I'm sure she's not perfect." I shrug, shoving a few more artifacts into the duffel bag, and add, "Or maybe she is, I don't know."

Sam is quiet for a moment as we finish in there and make our way through the church, taking from the alter and breaking several shadow boxes. Finally he tells me, "I doubt she's perfect. She, uh…she actually kissed me last night." My stomach flops and I feel my throat tighten a bit.

"Oh," I manage to murmur. I have no idea what Sam expects me to say to that. I don't actually know what I want to say to that.

"I mean, she barely knows me," he admits with a small shrug. "It's not really a moral issue but…maybe you're right. She is being judgmental."

"And she probably picked the wrong brother for a stranger make-out session," I note, raising my eyebrows. Sam laughs and nods to agree as we finish and make our way quickly down into the basement. There's nothing to burn down here except for the coal fireplace. We douse the coals in plenty of lighter fluid and set it all ablaze. I'm already nauseous from Sam's kissing story and the smell of the lighter fluid doesn't help.

Before the flames are really hot enough to melt anything, we start tossing everything we have inside the small makeshift oven. It'll all stay in there until it melts and we'll double check that it's gone. When you're working on small timeframes, though – like waiting for the angry-spirit girl to get back from the hospital – things are sloppier than at a barbeque.

"You know," Sam begins, clearing his throat the way he does when he's a little uncomfortable or nervous. "Dean told me you might be kinda mad…about the whole kissing thing."

I swallow and make a mental note to kick Dean's ass later. "Did he?" I answer as a way of not answering.

I'm saved from further questioning by Dean, stomping down the stairs. "I grabbed everything that even might be silver," he tells us, dropping his back at our feet. "Figured we were better safe than sorry."

As we continue to burn everything we'd found, the sound of a door and movement above us makes my heart jump. I immediately reach for one of the shotguns. We leave Dean to tend to the burning and I follow Sam up the stairs. There's only one other person in the church now, sitting in a pew with head bowed, but it is not the person I want to see.

Lori Sorenson is in prayer, in the church where we're burning the item that's keeping an angry spirit tied to this earth and to here. That means he's here, too. Sam takes a step toward her and then glances back at me as if asking for permission.

 _That's a new development._

"Get her out of here," I tell him firmly, giving a nod. "I'll keep an eye out for the Pastor." Sam nods and moves toward her, taking the center aisle between two rows of pews. I hold the shotgun and walk slowly across the back of the church, looking for any movement and listening for noises that shouldn't be there.

I can see Sam start to shake his head. He's tense, telling Lori something with his firm face on. When he starts to look around, I get nervous. I start toward them quickly as Sam turns to look at me, panic on his face. "C'mon," he tells her, grabbing her forearm to pull her up out of the pew. "You have to go – now!"

Lori looks concerned but runs along behind Sam as he yanks her behind me. "We just have to wait for everything to melt," I assure him, my heart pounding even as I say it. I pump the shot gun in preparation and announce, "And shoot anything that moves."

A bang behind them makes Lori scream and we all jump. A distinct, awful scraping noise begins along the side of the room. It's the hook. "Run!" Sam shouts, dragging Lori with him. I stay close behind them, keeping one eye over my shoulder as we leave the church room and start down the long hallway. It only leads toward the office so I realize there isn't a lot of point in running. Still, as an invisible hook starts to tear at the drywall on my left, I know we have to. I don't see him, but I fire where he should be according to the hook mark.

The hook stops suddenly and I stop running, hearing Sam and Lori continue on behind me. I hold my breath, waiting for him to appear so I can shoot him down again. When something grabs onto the hood of my sweatshirt, it happens too quickly for me to react. I don't realize what's happening until my feet are off the ground. It's only seconds later when I land, hard, in the office. The impact sends the shotgun skittering away and the impact on my ass sends shooting pain just everywhere.

"Kenzie!" Sam shouts, standing over me. Lori screams and falls beside me, gripping my arm as if I can protect her while my ass is on fire.

 _Bastard threw me all the way down the hallway._

"Sam, get down!" I hear Dean shout. Without hesitating, Sam drops to his knees and lands pretty much on top of me. A shotgun blast rings out and there's a puff of smoke where the Pastor had been seconds before, gone for the moment.

"I thought we got all the silver!" Dean calls as he runs toward us. "Why is he still here?"

"We must have missed something," Sam notes, all of us breathing hard and huddled on the floor in the office. The scraping starts again, the hook tearing drywall through the hallway moving right toward us.

Lori shifts closer to me and a small sound, like metal clinging, catches my ear. I glance at her and find that she's wearing a cross around chain on her neck. A cross and chain that sure as shit look silver. I grab it, making her jump, and demand, "Lori, where did you get this?"

"My father gave it to me," she answers.

"Where did he get it?" I press.

"It was a church heirloom."

I close my eyes for a moment, about to be pissed we missed something, and ask, "Lori, is it silver?"

"Yes." I tug without giving her a warning, the chain popping off into my hand and I jump to my feet. Dean reaches beside him and grabs the shotgun I'd had before I was thrown. He stands as well and tosses it to me.

"Give me cover," I tell him, shifting forward so that I'm standing on the balls of my feet.

The scraping is only getting louder and Dean fires into the hallway, stopping it for the moment. "You got a plan?" Sam demands, looking at me like I've lost my mind.

"Yes," I tell him. "I'm gonna run like hell and get this thing into that fire. Dean, try your best to keep up and don't let that son of a bitch get me." Before Sam can protest, the scraping starts again and Dean fires into the corner of the office where it had begun, blowing a hole in the wall.

"Go!" he shouts at me. I don't need to be told twice, and I take off. Something tells me that Jacob Carnes knows exactly what his spirit is tied to and he's not going to be happy about me trying to destroy it – spirits never are. I need to get down to the basement and get the cross into the fire before he gets to me.

I hear Dean's heavier footsteps ringing out behind me and realize that he's too far back to actually protect me. I need to just haul ass. I go as fast as I can, barreling through the church hall and into the basement, barely using the stairs. I nearly crash into the wall because of my own momentum and have to skid to a stop before falling into the fireplace myself. The cross goes into the high flames without a thought.

"Mack!" I hear Dean shout. I spin around and find myself starting right at the spirit of Jacob Carnes. He's growling, hook raised over my head like he's prepared to drive it right into my skull. I hear Dean pump the shotgun but before he needs to fire, the spirit between us bursts into flames. It takes him seconds to burn and then, just as quickly as he appeared, he's gone. And he's going to stay that way this time.

I breathe a sigh of relief, adrenaline flooding my system now. Dean leans against the stairs and lets out a breath. "Shit, you're fast!" he tells me. I laugh and shrugging, stepping toward him and slapping his shoulder in a sign of gratitude. He gives me a smile, panting, and we make our way back out of the basement. Our work is done.

 **…** **Morning…**

"And you saw him, too?" the Sherriff asks me this time, a deep frown on his weathered face. "The man with the hook?"

I nod firmly and answer, "Yes sir, we told you. We all saw him. We fought him off, and he ran."

"And that's all?" he presses.

"That's all," I say calmly. He doesn't believe a word any of us has said and he does not like us.

The Sherriff looks between myself and the guys who are standing on either side of me. "Every time I see the three of you – " he begins.

 _Where have we heard that before?_

Dean puts up his hands and assures him, "We know. Don't worry; we're leaving." He just nods and let us walk away, toward the car but also toward one of the ambulances where Lori is standing. She looks a bit dazed now that the paramedics have left her alone.

When she sees us, her face relaxes a bit. "Are you gonna be OK?" Sam asks her gently. I don't get jealous this time. I love how much he cares about people – myself included, I'm sure. And even if he's not mine, it's pretty great to have a hunting buddy and friend like that.

"Yeah," she answers, nodding a little. "I still don't know what happened," she admits. I can't help but laugh a little and see Dean nod beside me with a smile. That's a pretty normal response. Lori looks at the three of us. "I do know that you saved my life…and my dad's. So, thank you."

We just nod, unaccustomed to getting or responding to thanks. It hits me sometimes that we must be just about the most socially awkward trio of people anywhere. She gives us a final smile and we move on past her, also passing a new flyer about another frat party.

"Parties, studying, friends," I mutter thoughtfully. "Anyone wanna stay for a while?"

"Hell no," Sam answers immediately, nudging me into the side of the Impala playfully. I laugh, happy to hear it.

"Hey Roadrunner," Dean calls, his voice light and teasing. I look across the hood at him just in time to see the keys to the car flying at my face. I catch them with my hand just before I have to catch them with my nose. "You earned it," he informs me, cutting around the back of the car to the passenger side.

I don't waste time asking questions and get into the driver's seat before he can change his mind. This awkward little partnership totally has perks.


	8. 1x8: Bugs

I've decided that pool bars are even less my type can regular ones. If guys slogging beer, beating their chests like animals, and crowds bothered me, it's nothing compared to how annoyed I am at watching women gossip, sip fruity drinks, and hang all over their boyfriends. I do, however, get just a bit of joy of the jealous glances those women keep casting in my direction. I'm here with guys twice as hot as their boyfriends. Of course, they wouldn't be so jealous if they knew my actual relationship with these particular guys.

Dean reappears suddenly, smiling from ear to ear which tells me he's just made quite the score. He sits and reveals a wad of bills from inside his jacket, fanning himself with them. "I could light a fire," he notes happily. I roll my eyes at him, clicking through the article on the screen of the laptop.

"You know, it wouldn't kill us to get day jobs once in a while," Sam notes in his morality voice.

"It might kill me to work with the public, actually," I argue without looking up from the screen. I don't need to see the expression to know that Sam would prefer I just took his side all the time.

"That and hunting is our day job," Dean reminds him. "And the pay is total crap." I raise my eyebrows and nod firmly; if we had a job that paid on effort, we could afford our own rooms. Hell, honeymoon suites. At least there's no more couch discussion anymore; Sam and I have shared a bed every night since I shot a skin-walker dead three feet in front of him. I have to admit I'd rather debate morality – again – than talk about that.

"Yeah, but hustling pool and credit card scams? It's not really the most thing in the world, Dean," Sam notes.

Dean frowns as if he's contemplating his brother's words, but the sarcasm shines through in his green eyes. "Well, let's see." He raises his hands, uses them as a mock balance as he pretends to consider the options. "Honest…fun and easy. It's not contest." Sam just scoffs at him. "Besides, we're really good at it. It's what we were raised to do."

I wince, knowing how Sam feels about that subject. "Yeah, well how we were raised was jacked," he spits, the rage seeping through in his tone. Sam's going to have to deal with the anger he has for his dad soon or it's going to drive him crazy.

Dean barely notices Sam's anger anymore and brushes him off simply. "Yeah, says you. We got a new gig or what, Mack?"

"Maybe," I answer. "Oasis Plains, Oklahoma; not too far from here. A gas company employee – Dustin Burwash – supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

Dean and Sam both make different faces as they simultaneously ask, "What?" Sam seems surprised, while Dean is confused.

The younger brother explains, "Human Mad Cow Disease."

"Mad Cow?" Dean muses. "What's that on Oprah."

I raise my eyebrows at him and ask, "You watch Oprah often, huh?"

Dean glances between Sam and I, and decides to get back on subject instead of getting into that conversation. "So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?"

"Mad Cow Disease causes massive brain degeneration," I explain. "It takes months, sometimes even years for the damage to really spear. But this guy Dustin? It sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour, maybe even less."

Dean makes a face and responds, "OK, that is weird." I nod. It doesn't make a lot of sense.

"It could still be disease," Sam suggests. "Just a nasty case. Or it could be something a lot worse."

"Oklahoma it is then," Dean agrees. He slogs back the rest of his beer quickly and slams the empty glass down ceremoniously. He flashes a grin at Sam and says, "Man work, work, work. No time to spend my money."

I roll my eyes at him but shut the laptop and grab my beer. I've developed a taste for the stuff, which I'm sure Jim wouldn't be thrilled about. I don't drink half as much as Dean though so I've decided that's a win. We finish up and start to head out for the night. "I'm dropping you two off," Dean announces as we get into the Impala.

"You're coming back out?" Sam asks him, frowning.

"There's more money to be won in pool and several neglected girlfriends who need some company," Dean informs us, speeding out of the parking lot. I can only roll my eyes at him, but I'm not about to complain. Sam doesn't say a word either and I wonder if it's for the same reason.

I can't help but look forward to the few nights that I get to spend alone with Sam. Don't get me wrong; Dean is great. We get along really well, work almost flawlessly together, and he keeps me on my toes. I think he sees me as a sister and I've come to consider that position as almost an honor. Time with Sam is different, though. I know we're going to eat cheap food, watch terrible old movies or TV, and stay up late enough to regret it in the morning when Dean wants to hit the road. I know it's worth it, too.

When we get back to the hotel, I try not to fool myself into believing that Sam hurried out of the car as well. No one could miss the fact that Dean hurried off to leave us alone and go have his kind of fun. "Sometimes I wonder how it's possible that he and I are related," Sam muses playfully as we head into our tiny hotel room.

I laugh and nod, appreciating his point. "You're night and day, that's for sure. It makes perfect sense, though."

Sam frowns a little and asks, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you couldn't have day without night," I explain. "Or vice versa. And really, you wouldn't want to."

"I didn't think about it like that," he admits after a moment of thought. I throw myself down on my back on one of the mattresses, and Sam sits down beside me. He gives me that adorable smile of his and says, "You know, if me and Dean are night and day then you've got to me the sun. Maybe the moon, too."

I laugh at him. "Even if that wasn't ridiculous, I couldn't be both the sun and the moon. And considering it was your dad who got us all on this trip, I think he earns the title of sun."

Sam makes a face. "Yeah, except the sun is actually around." His eyes turn sad all of a sudden and I feel a hug on my heart. I know that he's angry with John for disappearing and disrupting his life. I also know, even though he won't admit it, he's worried about his dad. I think all three of us share those feelings, but Sam feels them much stronger because of all the unresolved crap he's got going on.

 _The Winchester's have to deal with their crap someday._

Today is not that day. I reach past Sam for a menu and drop it into his lap, grabbing the remote as well to find something to watch. I don't want to dwell on anything negative at the moment. It's been a long couple of weeks. As he gets on his cell phone to order, Sam leans against me casually. I let my arm fall over his shoulders and don't fight my smile.

 **…** **Morning…**

Sam wakes me up in the morning. Actually, he wakes me up a lot. It's hard to get used to sharing a bed with someone who moves around so much while he's sleeping. Granted, his feet and sometimes his legs hang off the mattresses because of his height so I guess that is uncomfortable. Laying in his arms, however, is definitely not uncomfortable.

Memories of the first morning I woke up tangled with Sam makes me laugh a little now. I've grown accustomed but haven't yet started to take it for granted. This morning, Sam's hand has slipped under the bottom of my t-shirt. It rests on my lower back while I sleep on my stomach and covers nearly half of my back because of our difference in size. I'm keenly aware of the placement of his hand, and I'm trying to ignore the terrible way it makes my heart race; an inch higher and he'll touch the scars.

Unless his hand moves, I can rest. And I am resting rather comfortably. Sam's leg is hitched between mine, and he's laying on his side so that's he's pressed against the length of me. His other arm is under me, his hand a few inches in front of my face. He smells good. He always smells good. I know he's basically using me for comfort from his nightmares. I realize that my crush on him is complicated by our jobs, our lives, and the fact that he's still – and probably always will be – mourning Jessica. I've always been a proponent of living in the moment, though.

 _And I like these moments._

I don't want to have to get up, but I'm facing the door so when Dean opens it, I see him come in. "You two are just adorable," he teases, waving his hand at me an old mother or grandmother would…if any of us had people like that, I guess.

"You're a pig," I inform him. I tell him that a lot, but I've never really meant it. Dean can do whatever he pleases and the women he does it with never seem to mind, so no one is harmed. Still, the smile he responds with makes me smile. "But you're holding coffee, so it's acceptable." I roll onto my side and my movement disturbs Sam.

"I smell coffee," he grumbles, pulling himself away from me and rolling onto his stomach. He buries his face into his pillow despite the smell of coffee and remains there while I get out of bed, stretching my arms over my head. Each of us needs a few minutes for a shower and coffee, then a McDonalds drive-thru for the breakfast of champions on our way to Oklahoma.

Dean drives so we make pretty good time into the small town. It's borderline adorable and I never really mean that in a good way. There isn't much here at all because the town is apparently still being built into cookie cutter homes and gated communities. It doesn't take us long to find the gas company and they direct us to the victim's partner without any questions. It's nice not to have to sneak around much for a change.

"Hey, are you Travis Weaver?" Dean calls as the three of us approach a guy in his twenties, leaning into a truck marked as belonging to the gas company.

He turns toward us just as Sam takes my hand inside his, lacing our fingers together much more naturally now than he did the first time. "Yeah, that's right," Travis answers, frowning just a little.

"Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?" Dean asks, putting on his most innocent face. It's still not particularly innocent.

"Dustin never mentioned nephews," Travis muses. He's not accusing us of anything; actually he smiles a little at the memory of his partner. I judge from the expression on his face that they were friends.

"Really?" Sam asks, feigning surprise. "Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest." Travis's face lights up and he gives a small, kind of sad sounding laugh.

Dean jumps on the opportunity while he's opened up. "So, we wanted to ask you," he begins. "What exactly happened out there?"

Travis shakes his head a little, smile fading. "I'm not really sure. He fell in the sinkhole, and I went to the truck to grab some rope. By the time I got back…" He lets his voice trail off.

"What did you see?" Sam asks.

"Nothing. Just Dustin," he answers.

"There were no wounds?" Dean pushes gently.

"Well…he was bleeding from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, and his ears," Travis answers, his face falling at the image in his mind I'm sure. It paints a pretty disturbing picture.

"Do you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?" I ask. Travis shrugs his shoulders and I realize that an electrician might not have much medical knowledge. "If it was, he would have acted strangely before it hit. Like dementia, loss of motor control. You ever notice anything like that?"

"No," Travis answers firmly. "No way. But…if it wasn't a disease, what the hell was it?" He's got a good point, and the three of us are silent for a moment. Finally, Dean asks where everything happened. Travis doesn't question our motives and sends us back to the housing development we'd driven through – Oasis Plains.

The exact spot is easier to find with the caution tape. The sinkhole is under a tree on the lawn of one of the in-progress houses. A house that looks just like every other house here. "What do you think?" Sam asks me as we head for the hole in the ground with flashlights and ropes.

I shrug my shoulders, still really unsure. "I don't know, but if Travis was right then this happened pretty damn fast."

"So, what?" Dean asks. "Maybe some sort of creature chewed on his brains?"

"No, there would have been an entry wound," Sam notes. "It sounds like this thing worked from the inside." We reach the edge of the hole and look down. It's small and dark and would put me in until I was essentially buried.

"Yeah, the only one of us under six feet tall is definitely exempt from this little exploration," I assert. No way in hell am I getting into a deep hole in the ground, soft dirt surrounding me and just waiting to collapse on me.

"Looks like there's only room for one," Dean says. He asks Sam, "You wanna flip a coin."

Sam scoffs at him. "Dean, we have no idea what's down there."

"Alright, I'll go if you're scared," Dean teases, shrugging his shoulders. I roll my eyes and the effect on Sam is immediate.

"Flip the coin," he snaps at his brother.

Dean doesn't hide a triumphant smile as he digs a quarter out of his pocket. "Call it in the air, chicken," he tells him. Two minutes later, Sam is perched on the edge of the hole with the rope knotted around his waist. Dean wraps the other end of the rope around his waist and anchors himself, planting his feet firmly.

"Do not drop me," Sam growls before he disappears into the ground.

 **…** **Later…**

The beetles Sam found in the ground seem pretty average to me. I can't find anything special in either of the ones that he brought out of the hole, explaining that beetle carcasses were the only things down there. Still, we continue examine them in the car. Dean, annoyed at the lack of hard evidence, grumbles, "You found some beetles in a hole in the ground. That's shocking, Sammy."

"There were no tunnels, no tracks," Sam tells us firmly. "No evidence of any other kind of creature down there." If there are beetles, there should be other bugs. If there are beetles, they had to come from somewhere and there should be tunnels. "Plus, some beetles do eat meat."

"How many did you find down there?" Dean asks.

"Ten."

Dean scoffs. "It would take a lot more than that to eat out somebody's brain."

"Well maybe there are more," Sam says urgently, his voice giving away his annoyance. Dean just shakes his head, not believing the theory obviously.

"We need more information on the area and the neighborhood," I remind them. I feel like I'm always trying to keep these two on track. I wonder if they'd just fist fight daily if it wasn't for me. "It'd help to know if anything like this had ever happened before."

Dean's face lights up. "Well I can think of a good place to start, and I'm feeling hungry for some local barbeque." Without explanation, Dean heads for the car. The smile on his face is definitely suspicious but I follow him anyway, Sam getting into the back seat this time. Dean makes his way back through the neighborhood and to a house with balloons and a sign out front. They're having an open house and barbeque for potential buyers.

"Really?" Sam asks, frowning at him from the back seat.

"What? We can talk to the locals."

I laugh and note, "And the free food has nothing to do with it."

As we climb out of the car, Dean assures us sarcastically, "Of course not. I am a professional." Now it's Sam who laughs while I roll my eyes.

I look around the neighborhood and can't help but feel uncomfortable, like I'm in a movie set or something. I grimace and admit, "Growing up in a place like would really have freaked me out?"

"Why?" Sam asks as we join Dean on the sidewalk.

"Manicured lawns, 'how was your day, honey'," I note.

Dean nods and agrees, "It's creepy. And I'd blow my brains out." I laugh at his extremism but I don't disagree. People like us aren't made for neighborhoods like this. I grew up in a church basement, teaching myself Latin and Enochian, learning how to use weapons, and killing any monsters that came close enough to warrant a look. The kids here will grow up getting crust cut off of their sandwiches, going to a school their parent's pay for with kids that they hate. It's no way to live.

"There's nothing wrong with normal," Sam argues.

"I'd take our family over normal any day," Dean informs him simply. That's Sam's big problem, you know; he has no idea how good he had it.

Without waiting for his brother to respond, Dean knock on the door. A middle aged guy wearing a very nice suit answers, plasters on a smile, and says, "Welcome!"

"Is this the barbeque?" Dean asks immediately. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and just keep smiling.

"Yes – as long as the rain holds off," he answers. The man extends a hand toward me first. "I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. You are?"

"I'm Mackenzie," I answer. Something clicks in my brain and I say, without warning the guys, "This is my brother, Dean, and his partner Sam." I hear Dean fight back a choking sound and watch Sam's whole body twitch a little. My smile only grows, rather pleased with myself.

"Oh," Larry responds, not missing a beat. "Well, let me assure you that at Oasis Plains we accept homeowners of any race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation."

Dean manages, "Well that…that is great." Larry invites us and starts to lead us through the house. It's all modern touches and high end finishes. Give me a log cabin over this crap any day.

I ignore death stares from my fake brother and his real brother but fake boyfriend, and ask Larry, "So you said you were the developer here?"

Larry smiles as if he's thrilled I asked. "Six months ago, I came to this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here except scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what? We build such a nice place to live that I bought into it myself." We reach the back deck and he motions toward the house behind us. "This is our house. We were the first family in Oasis Plains."

He leads us down the stairs into the yard which is milling with people dressed much nicer than we are. We reach a blonde woman who gives us a much easier smile and he says, "This is my wife, Joan."

"Hi there," she greets us.

"Honey, tell them how much you love the place," Larry says, wrapping an arm around her waist gently. She doesn't flinch at the touch. I wonder what that's like. "Lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses." We all fake laughs and then Larry excuses himself as the doorbell rings from inside the house.

"Don't let his salesman routine scare you," Joan tells us. She seems sincere and I wonder if we might be able to get the information we need out of her. "This really is a great place to live."

Suddenly, a brunette woman with her hair in a bun that looks painful it's so tight appears at Joan's side. "Hi, I'm Linda Bloom. Head of sales."

"Linda was second to move in here," Joan says. Something in her tone of voice tells me that Linda isn't her most favorite neighbor. Still, she smiles at us playfully and jokes, "She's a very noisy neighbor, though." With that, Joan walks off and leaves us with the head of sales.

"She's kidding, of course," Linda tells us. Well, yes, of course. This woman apparently has no sense of humor. It's a good thing Dean is pretending to be gay because he'd have no shot with this woman. "I take it you're interested in becoming homeowners."

"Yes," Sam answers confidently with a quick nod.

Linda looks back and forth from Dean to Sam and says, "Well, let me just say that here at Oasis Plains we accept homeowners of any race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation."

I nearly fall over laughing but manage just to smile instead, holding my breath. I can feel the boys discomfort and I'm thoroughly enjoying it for a moment. I take a breath and look up at the guys. "Why don't you two go talk to Larry?" I suggest. "I'm sure he could show you that master suite you guys want so badly."

If looks could kill, I'd drop dead. Instead, they follow suggestions and head back into the house while I'm left with Linda. She starts immediately, telling me every stupid detail about a house that I wouldn't take for free. We make our way toward a table where I ignore the food and just listen – sort of. She's really rambling and I'm looking for an opening to ask about any weird activities or deaths.

Something behind Linda catches my eye. There's a teenaged boy who needs a hair cut standing at the other end of the table. His smile is far too mischievous to be innocent and it only takes a second to see why; the boy is holding an empty jar and the previous content of that jar – a huge tarantula – is making its way toward Linda's hand as it rests on the table.

"The hardware for the tubs include nickel and brass," Linda is saying. She's going to freak if that spider crawls onto her hand. Of course, I think that's what the kid is going for. "And in the kitchens, you – "

"Will you excuse me?" I interrupt, going around her without an explanation. I hear her mumble something behind me but ignore it, certain her feelings are that hurt and she'll find someone else momentarily. The spider climbs easily into my hand so I'm sure it's used to human contact. I watch the teenager's face fall as I approach him, holding his pet. "I think this is yours."

The boy looks deflated but doesn't deny it as he transfers the spider back into the jar. "You gonna tell my dad?"

"I don't know," I answer. "Who's your dad?"

The teenagers scoffs and says, "Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions." Larry is the developer; that would explain his casual clothes and miserable attitude at being here.

"First name basis with the old man?" I observe. "Ouch. That sounds pretty grim."

"Yeah, well I'm not exactly brochure material." He's making a joke but I can tell he's hurting. I feel a tug on my heart; I know what it's like to feel unwanted – my birth parents abandoned me and I've never had a real friend.

"Hey, it'll get better," I assure him. "At some point in your life, it's OK to be kinda different."

He scoffs. "Yeah? When?"

"Matthew!" a voice calls from behind me. Larry approaches and rest a hand gently but somehow firmly on his son's shoulder. The guys come up beside me. "I am so sorry about my son and his…pet."

"It's no bother at all," I tell him honestly.

Larry ignores me and says, "Excuse us." Then he steers his son, spider in tow, back toward the house. We can see them through the glass doors leading inside from the deck and it looks like they're about to start having a pretty heated argument. Larry is actually wagging his finger in Matt's face and it's easy to see Matt doesn't like it.

"Geez," Sam breathes. "Remind you of someone, Dean?" Dean just frowns and gives a little shake of his head. "Dad?" Sam presses, raising his eyebrows.

"Dad never treated us like that," Dean snaps, indignant.

 _Another fight about their dad; at least this is original._

"No, Dad never treated you like that," Sam amends. "You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?"

Dean shakes his head. "He had to raise his voice sometimes but sometimes you were out of line."

Now Sam scoffs, his smile sarcastic and kind of hurt. "Right, like when I said I wanted to learn soccer instead of bow hunting."

"Bow hunting is an important skill."

"Jesus, will you two just shut up?" I demand. "Let me cut to the end of this for you: poor you, Sam, you were mistreated and poor you, Dean, your hero wasn't always perfect." They both blink at me, surprise written all over their faces. It only makes me more agitated. "You're both driving me crazy. Find something new to fight about until you've been dumped in an orphanage."

"Okay," Sam agrees, putting his hands up as a sign of truce.

"Sorry, Mack," Dean mumbles at me, looking away.

I roll my eyes, already done dwelling on it. We thank Larry and Linda, gather some information that we won't need, and head back to the car. The guys are too quiet. "How was the house tour?" I ask, getting all of us back on track.

"They have steam showers and I'm ready to buy," Dean answers. "But we also might really be onto something here."

"What happened?"

"Right before they broke ground here, one of Larry's contractors dropped dead on the job," Sam tells me. "Get this: severe allergic reaction to bee stings.

"More bugs," I note, thinking already.

"More bugs," he nods.

Dean shakes his head and continues, "I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is there that could make bugs attack?"

I shrug and suggest, "Hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations. Did you guys see any ghost activity?" Both guys shake their heads firmly. They'd know the signs well enough that I trust them, so I move on to a different idea. "Maybe they're being controlled somehow, by something or someone."

"You mean like 'Willard' with bugs instead of race?" Dean asks, grimacing.

Sam chimes in, "There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals – elementals, telepaths."

"The whole Timmy and Lassie thing," Dean notes. He's got a pop culture reference for literally everything, but I ignore it for now.

"Larry's kid was trying to scare the realtor with a tarantula," I tell them.

Sam raises his eyebrows and says, "You know, he had like whole insect collection. Keeps bugs as pets."

"You think he's our Willard?" Dean asks.

"Anything's possible," I remind them, definitely not counting it out. He's a disgruntled teenager – not that there's any other kind. What's to say he doesn't have some kind of special skill or power? Considering my own issues – those more well known and those still secret – I can't say there's no possibility.

"Oh, hey! Pull over here," Dean tells Sam, smacking his arm enthusiastically. He's pointing toward the driveway of one of the empty, finished houses.

"What are we doing here?" Sam asks, pulling in. Dean gets out of the car and starts toward the house confidently.

"It's too late to talk to anyone else," he notes.

I jump out of the Impala, concerned, and demand, "We're gonna squat in an empty house."

Dean turns back and looks at me. "I want to try to steam shower," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. I glance back into the car and exchange glances with Sam who looks mostly defeated but a little annoyed. Still, we turn off the car and follow Dean inside after he picks the lock. I've slept in a lot of places, but this will be a first for me.

 **…** **Morning…**

"Kenzie, wake up." Sam's voice brings me abruptly from a dreamless sleep. He's not beside me where he fell asleep. Of course, I don't know if he stayed there all night because we weren't spooning or cuddling; I think he thought I was still mad at him and I decided to let him believe it. Now, though, I sit up and find him on the other side of the room, already dressed.

"A police call came in from the scanner," he explains. "Someone was found dead three blocks from here." A third death in the same housing complex; something is definitely happening. I get up and grab my bag. "Dean! Get out of the bathroom," Sam shouts to him. I follow him into the hallway and find the bathroom door shut with steam pouring out from under it.

It opens suddenly and Dean emerges. He's got a towel wrapped around his waist and another wrapped around his head, and a youthful smile on his face. "This shower is amazing," he enthuses.

I just laugh at him and go into the bathroom that he's turned into a sauna. My hair is going to be extra curly today, thanks to Dean. I quickly dress, brush my teeth, and tug my hair back into a ponytail. I meet Dean, now dressed, in the hallway and we get out of the house. The crime scene is easy to find again since police and ambulances are still on sight. It's one of the new houses which is not a good sign for our case.

As we get out of the Impala and head toward the house, looking for someone we can question, Larry comes out of the front door. He looks stressed and is on the phone, saying, "OK, look, I don't know anything more right now. I'll have to call you back."

Larry sees us as he hangs up the phone and stops, letting us approach him. "Hello. You're back early," he says in greeting.

"We wanted to take a second look at the houses," Sam tells him. He puts on those concerned puppy dog eyes that make people feel like they're special and asks, "What's going on?"

Larry sighs but I can't tell if it's from sadness or stress. "You all met Linda Bloom at the barbeque, right?"

"The realtor?" I ask, pretty sure that's the woman who talked my ear off yesterday.

"She passed away last night," Larry confirms with a nod. That is definitely not good. "We're still trying to find out what happened. I just, uh…I had to identify the body for the police." He takes a breath and shakes his head before telling us, "I'm really sorry but this is a bad time."

"No, that's OK," Sam assures him gently. Larry gives us a nod and gets into his BMW, pulling away from the curb quickly. "You know what we need to do, right?" Sam asks both of us.

"Get into that house and see if we have a bug problem," Dean answers. I agree and we walk calmly to the end of the street, not drawing any attention. Once out of view of the first responders, we cut through the well-trimmed back yards that are all exactly the same. We hurry, getting to the side of the house where Linda has done some gardening.

It's easy enough from there to climb onto the shed and then into a second story window. It leads us into a bedroom. Dean moves into the hallway and Sam grabs my shoulder to pull me easily through the window. "This looks like the place," he calls us to, staring at something.

There's no more body in the hallway, but there is a lot of blood and shattered glass. It looks like she came through the wall of the shower and out, crawling maybe. And I see why; there are dead spiders everywhere. Dean leans down and nudges one with a pen. "Think these are from spider kid?" he suggests.

"Matt," I mumble, remembering the tarantula. "Maybe."

It's not hard to find information in the school district's system about where Matt goes to school and the bus he takes home. So we park the Impala at that bus stop and wait, spotting the bright yellow bus as easily as one would assume it would be to spot. Matt is the only person to get off and he stands off at the side of the road as the bus leaves him. When it turns a corner, he promptly turns around and heads off into the woods instead of toward his house.

"That's not the way home," Dean mutters.

"So where is he going?" Sam asks aloud as we all jump out of the car. Matt isn't trying to hide his tracks or be quiet as he tramps through the wooded area, so he's easily to follow. He reaches a downed log and kneels, pulling something out of his book bag with his back to us.

"Hey Matt," I call, making him jump. "Remember me?"

"What are you doing here?" he demands, anxiety written over all of his features and his body language. Matt definitely wasn't expecting a tail. I notice the jar in his hand and that there's a praying mantis inside; he was collecting a new pet.

"We want to talk to you," I answer him.

"You're not here to buy a house, are you?" he asks, anxiety not lessening. He closes his eyes and pleads, "Please don't be serial killers."

"You're pretty much safe, Matt," Dean assures him, putting his hands up to show him that none of us is holding a weapon and we aren't going to hurt him. Matt seems to relax just a little. "Matt, you sure know a lot about insects."

Now the teenager frowns. "Yeah, so?"

"Did you hear about Linda, the realtor?" Sam asks.

"I heard she died this morning," Matt answers. He doesn't sound totally casual about the death but not exactly devastated either. I can imagine she wasn't all that great with kids.

"She did," I confirm. "She died from spider bites, Matt, and yesterday you tried to scare her with a spider."

Matt blinks at me, surprise registering. "Wait. You think I had something to do with it?"

"You tell us," Dean shrugs.

"No!" he shouts. "That tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee stings or the gas company guy." Now I'm sure we're the ones who look surprised. How – and why – does he know about that. Matt nods and stands up a little straighter. "There is something going on here. I don't know what, but something is happening with the insects."

Matt scoops up his bag, shoves the jar inside, and tosses it onto his shoulder. "C'mon, let me show you something." He starts off further into the woods and we exchange glances before following him. They look surprised as well but none of us really sees the danger in finding out if the kid knows anything about it. I don't think he could take down the three of us – at least not without getting knocked around a little.

"Matt, if you knew about all this bug stuff how come you didn't tell your Dad?" Dean asks him. It's a reasonable question. "Maybe he could clear everyone out."

"Believe me, I've tried," Matt says earnestly. "Larry doesn't listen to me, though."

"Why not?"

Matt laughs a little but there's no humor in the sound. "Mostly because he's ashamed of his freak son."

"I hear ya," Sam mumbles.

"You do?" Dean asks.

Sam ignores him and asks Matt, "How old are you Matt?" He answers that he's sixteen and Sam smiles fondly. "Well don't sweat your Dad too much because in two years, something great is gonna happen."

"What?" Matt asks, his expression dubious.

"College," Sam explains simply. "You'll be able to get out of your house and away from your dad." I roll my eyes down at the ground, keeping my opinions about Sam's fond voice when he thinks about Stanford to myself.

Dean isn't as subdued in his opinions. "What the hell kind of advice is that?" he demands. "A kid should stick with his family."

"How much further, Matt?" I ask, shooting a glare at the guys to warn them. We don't have time for their crap and I'm at my wit ends. They shut up for now.

"We're close," Matt answers, shooting an awkward look back at Sam and Dean. "I've been keeping track of the insect populations for an AP science project."

"What's been happening?" I ask.

"A lot," he tells me firmly, the two of us stepping out in front of the guys now. I don't really want to walk with them at this moment. We reach a clearing of sorts and Matt stops walking. The reason he's brought us to this spot becomes obvious immediately. Someone really turned the volume up. I can hear bees, crickets, locusts and leaves rustling both in the trees and on the ground. "From bees to earthworms and beetles, you name it. It's like they're congregating here."

"Any idea why?" I ask him, figuring the kid knows more about the bugs than any of us.

"No clue," he answers, shaking his head slowly.

Dean motions toward the other end of the clearing and asks, "What is that?" I follow the line of his finger and find an odd mound. There are ant hills and such everywhere, but this is different. It looks too intentional. We head over, Matt trailing behind us a little while I take the lead.

Two feet in front of the mound itself, the ground is suddenly gone from under my feet and I'm falling. While I don't fall far, I do fall hard and I can't help a groan when pain shoots up my spine from my ass. I landed on something harder than ground. "Mack!" I hear Dean shout.

"Kenzie!" Sam follows. They appear over me, concern all over their features. I'd be more moved if they hadn't been annoying the hell out of me the last few days. "Are you OK?"

I ignore the question and try to shift with the goal of getting off of whatever is so uncomfortable under me. I also don't have any interest in ending up the next freaky bug accident victim. Unfortunately, what I find around me is even more concerning than the bugs. I'm sitting in a shallow grave for what looks like a whole lot of very, very old bodies. "Oh, give me a break," I groan, looking up at the sky. This is not what I needed today.

 **…** **Half an Hour Later…**

I get myself out of the grave, bringing a couple of bones with me for a closer look. We head out of the woods and back to the Impala, saying goodbye and thank you to Matt for now. There's a small college on the other end of town with an anthropology department, so we take the pieces of our new friends with us for an expert opinion. A professor who specializes in American cultures – according to his website – has agreed to see us this afternoon.

I take the backseat and rest my feet on the bench seat. Sam climbs in with me and still has enough room at the other end despite my outstretched legs. I raise my eyebrows at him, suspicious of his motives. "You're sure you didn't get hurt?" he asks gently.

 _I hate when he's a sweetheart…or at least I want to._

"I only fell like three feet," I remind him as Dean gets into the car.

"Yeah, but you fell onto bones and landed on your ass," Dean reminds me, glancing at me through the rearview. He tosses something over his shoulder and I catch it instinctually, finding myself with a bottle of Advil. "You'll wish you had if you don't."

He's probably right; my ass is already sore. I throw a couple of them in my mouth and swallow. I'd rather talk about work then my ass, though, so as we get on the way I begin, "So a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave. What do we think?"

"It could still be a haunting," Dean suggests. "Some pissed off spirits or unfinished business."

"The question is why bugs?" Sam asks. "And why now."

"That's two questions," Dean notes. They're good questions, but I'm more curious right now about the bones and the grave. Something happened in this area that isn't widely known, and I'm very interested in finding out what. We only make it another minute before Dean asks the question that I'm certain has been killing him: "So back there with Matt…how could you just tell him to ditch his family like that?"

Sam takes a breath and answers, "I just know what he's going through." The tension level in the car escalates to an almost unbearable level immediately and I close my eyes, preparing for another fight. They argue almost daily about their dad and it usually focuses on whether or not he was a good dad. I wish I could just smack both of them and tell them to be grateful. Some of us were abandoned and are only alive because of the grace of God and the heart of a Pastor.

"How about telling him to respect his old man?" Dean presses, not hiding his aggravation. "How's that for advice?"

"Dean, come on, this isn't about his old man," Sam slings. "You think I didn't respect Dad. That's what this is about."

Dean is quiet for a beat before he answers, "Just forget it. Sorry I brought it up." I can tell from his tone of voice that Sam has hit the nail on the head and Dean is just realizing this. Dean Winchester is terrible at identifying his own emotions.

Sam, of course, can't let it go now. "I respected him," he tells Dean. "But no matter what I did, it was never good enough."

"What are you saying?" Dean demands. "That Dad was disappointed in you?" I know Sam's response; we've talked about this. And I do feel for Sam, constantly feeling like a failure in his father's eyes. I just wish he could put it all away for a few minutes while we find the guy. They can work it out, but he's going to ruin his relationship with Dean on this road.

"Was?" Sam repeats with a small, humorless laugh. I know when he does that, he's pissed and looking for a fight. I rest my head against the window of the car behind me and stare at the roof of the Impala. "Is! Always has been."

"Why would you think that?" Dean's tone is hurt, but I'm sure Sam can't see it. They're completely blind to one another.

"Because I didn't want to bow hunt or hustle pool," Sam answers. "I wanted to go to school and live my life, but in our whacked out families that makes me a freak."

I look at Sam now and frown even though he barely notices me. I consider kicking him but hold off. I hate the way he talks about our families and our lives sometimes. This is all Dean and I have ever known. Actually, it's all Sam has ever known but he acts like he's above it…above us. I watch Dean's knuckles whiten around the wheel and know that his brother's attitude toward all of this must bother him too.

 _Hell, I have a major crush on the guy and I kinda want to hit him._

"You know what most parents are when their kid scores a full ride?" Sam continues. "Proud. Most kids don't toss their kids out of house."

Dean glares into the backseat through the rear view mirror. "Yeah, I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice words coming out of your mouth."

Sam ignores the accusation and barrels on angrily. "You know, the truth is that when we do finally find Dad I don't know if he'll even want to see me."

That's enough for me. Maybe it's the orphan inside me, but something snaps. How could Sam believe that about a Dad who really did try? At least the guy was around. "Sam, just stop," I snap at him. "Your dad was never disappointed in you."

He looks at me, surprised, and asks, "What?"

"He was scared," I tell him, confidently. "He was afraid of what could happen to you if he wasn't around. That's why even when you weren't talking, he drove up to Stanford whenever he could to check on you."

Sam blinks at me, confusion on his face now. I know what I've heard from John's phone calls to Jim. John vented to Jim a lot and asked for advice and council just like everyone else. A lot of it had to do with his son who just didn't seem to want to be around him. John was scared that the things we hunt would go after his son.

Sam looks at Dean and asks, more gently, "Is that true?"

"Yeah," he answers in a gruff voice. "He kept an eye on you to make sure you were safe." We've reached the college and Dean parks but no one moves for now.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"It's a two way street dude," Dean reminds him. "You could have picked up a phone." I know Dean wants to tell Sam that he could have called his brother, too, but he doesn't say anything. No one says anything for a long moment until Dean breaks it. "Come on. We're gonna be late for our appointment."

We get out of the car and head onto campus. It's easy enough to get directions to Professor Keith's office and we arrive to find the door open. He's an older guy with a kind smile and an office that smells like a library. I love that smell. Professor Keith brings us in where we lay the bones out on one on a table after he makes some room between old books.

"You all said that you were students?" he clarifies.

"Yes, sir," Sam answers. "Anthro one-oh-one."

The professor nods and I ask, "What do you think about bones?" I don't really feel like bullshitting or chatting about a class we aren't even taking right now. My ass hurts.

"Well, at first glance, this is quite an interesting find you've made," he tells us, leaning over the table and examining the bones closely. "I'd say they're about a hundred and fifty years old, give or take. The time frame and our geography would heavily suggest they're Native American."

"Were there any tribes or reservations on that land?" I ask.

"Not according to historical record," Professor Keith answers, standing and making a weird face. "But, uh…well, the relocation of natives was a common practice at that time." I nod, understanding his point. Someone likely came in, shoved the locals out, and pretended that they never existed.

"Are their any local legends?" Sam asks. "Oral histories about the area?" It wouldn't be the first time that a legend led us to the truth, and with a grave involved there has to be a real story somewhere.

"I don't know any off hand," he admits. "There is a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa, though, about sixty miles from here. Someone out there might know the truth."

That's a damn good place to start, so we thank the professor and get on our way. He's a little sad to say goodbye to the bones, but if there's a possibility they need to be burned we can't risk giving any away. Dean drives and Sam sits in the front seat this time. We're all quiet but the tension isn't as high as it was before.

The reservation is little more than a big farm with a few run down buildings. We ask a few people if we could find someone who might know something about Oasis Plains and local legends. Three different people tell us to look for Joe Whitetree, and they all suggest we start at a local diner. We enter the cozy little joint and take a look around. Dean motions toward the oldest guy we've come across, sitting alone and eating his lunch. It's reasonable to think that the old guy is the one with all the legends, so we walk toward him.

"Excuse me, Joe Whitetree?" Sam asks. The guy with dark, sun weathered skin and long salt and pepper hair pulled into a ponytail glances up at us. He examines the three of us with deep brown eyes and gives one short, barely noticeable nod before looking back down at his plate and continuing. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind," Sam continues politely. "We're students from the university."

"No, you're not," Joe interrupts. "You're lying." I can see Sam's cheeks start to redden and he gets a look like deer in headlights. I can't help but raise my eyebrows, a little surprised.

Dean clears his throat and begins, "OK, the truth is – "

"You know who starts a sentence with 'the truth is'?" Joe interjects. He looks up at Dean and answers his own question. "Liars." Now Dean looks guilty and I immediately decide I like Joe. I push the guys aside and slide into the booth across from Joe. It's time to get real.

"Have you heard of Oasis Plains?" I ask. "It's a housing developing in the Atoka Valley."

Joe looks at me and I watch his eyes soften. He looks up at the guys and tells them, "I like her. She's not a liar." I can't help a small smile and know that the guys feel like smacked asses. Joe Whitetree reminds me of my own father figure, and I'm glad we have a mutual appreciation for each other. "I know the area," he tells me.

"Can you tell us anything about the history there?"

He eyes me curiously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains," I answer him honestly. "We think it might have something to do with some old bones we found. We're told they're Native American bones."

Joe puts his utensils down and sits up a little straighter. I realize he's decided to take us seriously now. "I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him." His voice is grim and I lean forward, completely interested. "A group of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant and the cavalry was impatient."

He takes a breath and continues, "As my grandfather put it, on a night when the moon and the sun shared the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided the village. They murdered and they raped." I swallow as my stomach flops. His eyes are serious and sad. "They next night, they came again. And the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. By the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead."

My mouth has gone dry and a glance up at the guys tells me that they're just as disturbed. Sometimes history is truly messed up. "They say that on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens should any white man tarnish the village again nature would rise up and protect the land. It would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people."

I close my eyes and mutter, "Shit."

"Insects," Dean breathes. "That sure sounds like nature to me." He's right. Joe is right, too. This curse is coming to life.

"When did the gas company guy die?" Sam muses. "We got here on Tuesday so…Friday the twentieth. March twentieth."

"The Spring Equinox," I finish, following his train of thought. I look back at Joe who has gone back to eating but is definitely still listening to us. "The night to moon and sun share the sky as equals."

"So every year about this time, anyone in that valley is in danger," Dean says. "Larry built his house on cursed land."

"And the sixth night is tonight," Sam reminds us. My head spins a little with the reality of the situation and the short timeline. It's already after dusk. We have hours left to fix this.

Dean swallows and says, "If we don't do something, Larry's whole family will be dead by sunrise." I think of Matt and feel a tug in my chest.

"Joe." He looks up at me with a look that tells me he knows exactly what I'm going to ask. I have to ask, though. This is a first for me and there's nothing in John's journal about curses. "How do we break the curse?"

"You don't break a curse," Joe answers, shaking his head slowly. "You get out of it's way."

"Son of a bitch," Dean groans, pulling out his cell phone and headed for the exit. "We have to get those people out of there."

I stand quickly, knowing we're in a race against time. "Thank you, Joe," I say, pausing because I mean it and it's important to say. "We really appreciate your help."

"My people were horribly mistreated," Joe responds. "There are far too many stories to tell them all at once. But it has been a long time, and a man trying to build his home is no murderer." He shakes his head a little and says, "I hope you get them out in time. My ancestors were angry, but anger is a very dangerous thing to onto too tightly."

I can't help but feel like he's actually talking to Sam and not me. The way Sam shifts around beside me tells me that he feels like same way. We thank him one more time and leave, following Dean outside to where he's already sitting in the car. As soon as we get in, he takes off.

"Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a gas main leak in your neighborhood," Dean is saying on the phone, using a fake voice and accent. He pauses and then says, "Well, it's fairly extensive. I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least 12 hours. Just to be safe."

It's nearly seven thirty, so twelve hours would give us plenty of time after sunrise. I just have to hope that Larry believes the story. "Travis Weaver, with Oklahoma Gas and Power," Dean says, answering a question I didn't hear on the other end. His face starts to pale and I hear Larry raising his voice on the other end. "Uh…" Suddenly Dean shuts the phone and curses under his breath.

"Give me the phone," I tell him, holding out my hand. I flip through the contacts quickly and find what I'm looking for, dialing.

He answers on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Matt? It's Kenzie."

"Kenzie, my yard is crawling with cockroaches!" he says, voice breaking a little in panic and confusion.

"Matt, I need you to listen," I tell him firmly. "You need to get your family out of the house right now, OK? Something is coming."

"More bugs," he breathes.

"A lot more," I assure him, hoping I'm being urgent enough. He needs to understand the situation and I think he does. Matt knows the signs, has seen the bug activity.

Matt continues in a rush, "My dad doesn't listen in the best of circumstances. What am I supposed to tell him?"

"Matt, you have to make him listen!" I urge him, annoyed at all the daddy issues I'm having to tolerate today.

"Give me the phone," Dean snaps, reaching back and taking it out of my hand quickly. "Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth," Dean tells the kid. "He'll think you're nuts. You tell him you have sharp pain in your right side and you need to go to the hospital." Without waiting, Dean closes the phone and presses harder on the gas pedal.

 **…** **Oasis Plains, An Hour Later…**

Unexpected road work sent us on a detour, and it's nearly nine when we finally get back to Oasis Plains. Dean flies up to the curb and there, in the driveway, is Larry's BMW. The lights are on inside as well. "Damn it, they're still here," Dean grumbles.

"Come on," I urge them, jumping out of the car and hurrying toward the house. We'll drag them out of here if we have to.

The door flies open before we reach the porch and Larry appears, Matt behind him. Larry is pissed and yells, "Get off of my property before I call the cops!"

"Mr. Pike, you have to listen," Sam tells him.

"Dad, they're trying to help!" Matt protests.

"Get in the house!" Larry snaps at his son.

Matt looks at us with a contrite expression and admits, "I told him the truth. Sorry."

Dean throws his hands up in exasperation. "We had a plan, Matt. What happened to the plan?"

"Look, it's late!" I shout, trying to keep everyone focused. We need to get moving. "You need to get your family and get out of here before it's too late."

"Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm?" Larry demands sarcastically.

I scoff and respond, "Believe me, there is nothing Christian about what happened on this land. What do you think happened to your realtor? To the gas company guy? You really don't think something weird is going on around here?" He has to see it. Jim always told me that people only see what they want to, but no one can be totally blind to the world – right?

"Look, I don't know who you are but you're all crazy," Larry responds, proving me wrong. "You come near my boy or my family again, we're gonna have a problem."

"I hate to be a downer, but we have a problem right now," Sam tells him firmly, stepping forward and shaking his head. He's making the point that we aren't leaving without them and he's right.

"Dad, they're right!" Matt shouts suddenly. "We're in danger!"

Larry turns to his son and points into the house, through the open door. "Get back inside!"

It's then that I hear it, distant but growing. There's a sound, like a ringing in my ears kind of noise but lower. And…alive, somehow. I turn around, searching the night for a source.

"Why won't you listen to me" Matt is yelling back at his Dad.

Dean interrupts and tell them, "Look, this land is cursed. People have died here. Are you really going to take that chance with your family, Larry?"

The sound is growing enough so that I can tell what it is. It's a buzzing noise…like wings. A lot of wings. "Wait," I say. Everyone falls silent and I ask them, "Do you hear it?" The swarm appears over the trees, so think and wide that it looks like storm clouds rolling in.

"It's time to go!" Sam shouts.

"Larry, go get your wife," Dean directs.

"It's too late!" Matt argues. The kid is right. The noise becomes definitely and I realize that the swarm is moving much, much too fast to outrun it. All we can do is get inside.

"Get in the house1" I shout, spinning and making a run for it. Larry, his face covered in shock and terror, finally listens and pushes Matt inside ahead of him. Dean follows them and Sam makes sure I'm in before he follows me.

"We need towels and blankets – lots of them," Dean says. Matt takes off up the stairs and Larry hurries into a hall closet.

"Larry is anyone else in the neighborhood?" Sam asks as Dean and I start shoving a towel under the gap between the front door and the floor.

"No, it's just us," he answers as Joan starts to come down the stairs behind Matt. "Joanie, call nine-one-one."

"What's going on?" she asks, staring at us. She looks up and frowns, asking, "What is that noise?"

I shake my head and shove one of the towels into her hands. "There's no time," I tell her firmly. "We have to lock this place us. Windows, doors, fireplace, everything needs to be blocked. They cannot get inside."

My heart is pounding loudly and I have a sick sinking feeling in my stomach. Not one part of me believes that this is going to be easy or that it could end well. There's a pop suddenly, and then the lights go out. "They chewed through the wires," Matt breathes, his eyes wide in fear.

Everyone jumps as a new noise starts, almost like hail when it hits your window. But it's not hail…it's the attacking bugs. "They're blanketing the house," Dean observes, disgust evident in his voice. If it wasn't scary, I'd be pretty damn grossed out by this.

"What the hell do we do now?" Larry demands, going to where Joan and his wife are standing. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and places a hand on Matt's. The teenager looks more surprised about a show of affection and protection than about a bug attack on his house. Maybe it's a guy thing; are they all stupid?

I shake my head, pushing insignificant thoughts out. We have more than enough going on right now as we stand inside a dark house, literally covered by bugs. "We try to outlast it," I answer honestly. "Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise."

"Hopefully?" Joan repeats. It's really the best I can deliver. The legend says that everyone dies by sunrise, so we don't know what happens if we don't actually die. Of course we also don't know that we won't die.

Dean returns from a trip into the kitchen. He tosses a can of Raid and then a lighter to Sam, wielding one of each himself. "Bug spray?" Sam asks dubiously.

"You have a better weapon?" Dean asks. He's got a point. A bug spray flame thrower is really all we have going for us right now. The fireplace catches my attention, as something begins to rattle inside. Everyone goes quiet and we listen for a moment. "The flue," Dean mumbles. "We all need to get upstairs – now!"

Just as he says it, an explosion of flying insects come through the fireplace. The gate in front of the opening clatters to the floor and the towels prove useless as the creatures start right for us. "Go!" I shout, spinning. I can hear the makeshift flamethrower and feel the heat on my back as Dean starts a defense beside me. I grab the back of his jacket to provide him with some navigation as he runs backward, continuing to spray.

We reach the attack door just as there's a break from the swarm. Matt and Joan go first, then Larry. Sam motions for me to follow and I don't argue. After Dean is up, we close the hatch. "My God," Joan breathes. I turn and find that she's staring at the far wall of the attic which is actually shaking. "What is that?"

"Something is eating its way in," Larry answers.

"Termites," Matt observes. That does not sound the least bit pleasant.

"Alright, everyone get back," Dean orders, taking control the way Dean Winchester always does. We all hurry toward the opposite corner. "We hold 'em off as best when can. When we run out…we huddle together and cover our faces."

 _That is about the worst plan I've ever heard, and it's only one._

The guys fend off wave after wave of insect. Then, the curse stops sending the insects in waves. Suddenly the attic is full and we're completely surrounded. While Joan screams, Larry shoves her down lower and pulls Matt underneath him to better cover his head. His suit jacket helps to protect them as my vision gets blurry. I squeeze them tight and my head with my arms, wishing I could hold my breath longer.

I feel arms and without looking, I know from the smell of sandalwood that it's Sam. He pulls me into him, yanking me against him and surrounding our heads with his jacket. Someone else is grabbing onto my shoulder and I know it's Dean, so I reach up and snag his hand. He squeezes and keeps hold, but we don't dare say a word. The sound is louder than anything I've ever heard before and the pelting of kamakazi bugs on my body is like needle pricks everywhere, but I don't even consider moving while Sam has our faces protected as best he can.

Soft hair brushes my forehead and then something softer but still hard too is leaning against my head. I venture my other hand upward and find Sam's face right in front of me, his forehead against my own. I get warm suddenly and not from behind attacking in a tiny attack. It hits me then that if I have to go out, even if it is by bugs, that doing it wrapped up in Sam and Dean is the way I want to go. I rest my hand on Sam's cheek and grip Dean's rough hand even tighter.

I don't know how long we stay like that, the attacks coming so often that I start to go numb. My legs ache unbearably as we squat and I can feel myself sweating after awhile, but no one moves. When I feel like the noise is starting to get quieter, I worry at first that I'm going deaf from it. Then the hits start to slow, and eventually stop. When I open my eyes, there's enough light outside the jacket that I can see Sam's face and his eyes looking back at me.

 _The fact that I just looked at his lips at a time like this is proof that I am really messed up_.

He moves first, slipping the jacket off over his head and releasing both of us. Dean is sitting up already but still holding my hand until I think he realizes it. One more squeeze and he lets me go. He's almost behind me, which I hadn't noticed. I'm in between them…they surrounded me. For the first time when someone has protected me, I feel loved instead of belittled. These two might annoy the hell out of me and fight constantly with each other, but when push comes to shove this is it. We're together.

Larry is first of the family to look up and the only one who isn't tightly covering his ears. He looks at us, then around, and then tells Matt and Joan that it's over. And it looks like it is over. The sun is rising, the roof is nearly gone altogether, and the skies are free of bug swarms. The floor around us is almost covered in bug carcasses and none of us is free of their guts from the attacks.

I sit back on my haunches, take a breath, and admit, "I've never wanted a shower so badly in my life."

 **…** **That Afternoon…**

I've also never had a shower feel so good in my entire life. And lunch somehow takes better than I think it would have on a normal day. I even get a beer, happing toasting with the guys to life.

After packing to get back on the road, we decide to stop by the Pike residence and see how the family is holding up. We didn't try to talk much before leaving them this morning, and I'm sure they're more than a little shaken up. While I'd hoped they would leave now, I'm surprised to see the moving truck out front when we arrive.

Larry sees us crossing the street toward him and puts down the box he's carrying, smiling just a little and waiting for us. "What, no goodbye?" Dean asks playfully.

"Good timing; another hour and we would have been gone," Larry responds, glancing back toward the house like he can't stand the sight of it.

"Gone for good?" Sam clarifies expectantly, raising his eyebrows.

Larry nods. "Yes. The development has been put on hold while the government investigates those graves you found." He takes a breath and continues, "But I'm going to make damn sure no one ever lives here again."

"You don't seem all that upset about it," I observe, surprised.

He laughs a little and admits, "This has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…" He turns and glances back to where Matt is in the garage. "Somehow I really don't care."

I can't help a smile. Who cares if it took a freak attack from bugs because of a curse to bring Matt and Larry closer? At least they've got a place to start from now. Matt approaches now, carrying a box. He smiles at us before dropping the box on the curb next to a pile of trash. The box is full of cages and jars, like the one his tarantula had been in. Sam reaches down and picks up a poster of twenty kinds of spiders. "What's this?" he asks Matt, curiously.

"I don't know." Matt shrugs a little but makes a face at the pictures and adds, "They kind of freak me out now." We all laugh a little; I don't think any of us can blame the kid for that. After a short goodbye and letting them thank us, we head back for the Impala.

"I could use a nap," Dean announces, tossing the keys in my direction. I accept them gladly and get into the driver's seat. Dean gets into the back and most of him disappears as he lays down.

I don't get far before Sam says softly, "I want to find Dad." I glance over at him but keep quiet; he's not talking to me.

"Yeah, me too," Dean answers from the back.

"I know but…I want to apologize."

Now Dean's head pops up, frowning. "For what?"

"You're right; I said some really terrible things before I left," Sam says, staring straight ahead at the road. I can see in the rearview that Dean is watching Sam. The younger brother looks a little guilty but mostly just kind of sad. "He was doing the best he could."

My heart swells, kind of proud of Sam for saying that. I reach over and grab his hand. Sam flips his over and links our fingers, giving me his crooked one-dimpled half smile. "We'll find him," I say confidently. "You two will be fighting again in ten minutes and you'll be back at your dad's throat an hour after apologizing."

They both laugh and Sam admits, "Yeah, probably." He squeezing my hand and Dean lays back down. We head for a highway with no particular direction at the moment. Within minutes, Dean starts snoring. Sam releases my hand to turn on the radio but picks it back up again quickly. It'd be impossible to keep from smiling at the moment. Right now, we're just comfortable. No one is fighting, no one is dying.

For a minute at least, everything is OK.


	9. 1x9: Home

**A/N: Thanks so much for all of the positive reviews and ideas guys! This is the first thing like this I've ever done, so it means a lot that you're enjoying it. I'm trying to update as much as possible, I promise. Please keep reading and reviewing!**

This is the first and probably the last time that I have or will ever suggested we go out for drink. Tonight, it just seemed necessary. Sam had a dream last night – a really terrible dream. He's certain that the woman he saw in his dream is actually in danger, but he has no idea where we should go to help her. All he's got is a sketch of a tree that he saw, and he's been staring at it for hours.

Sam hasn't told Dean yet, either. Dean knows something is wrong with his little brother and gets frustrated whenever Sam keeps something from him. The tension got to me and I decided we all needed a beer. "Mack!" Dean shouts across the bar from behind me. I've left our table to bring back drinks. "Order me a burger," he requests, beaming his carefree smile at me.

I flip him over and turn away, earning a loud laugh that the whole bar can hear. I can't help smiling in response to it. He's the goofiest person I've ever met and he brings out a goofy almost carefree side of me that I didn't know was even there. Sam has trouble still compartmentalizing all of this and I'm serious by nature; if it wasn't for Dean, I think Sam and I would drive ourselves into a nut house.

So, I order the beers and also a damn bacon cheeseburger for Dean. I lean on the bar to wait for the drinks and have to shift down a little as some leftover liquid wets the sleeve of my jacket. "Hey there." I don't recognize the voice behind me so I turn. There's a guy behind me, wearing a lavender t-shirt and a cheesy smile. Brown eyes, Justin Bieber hair cut, thin, and not tall enough to make me feel like a dwarf. Of course the guy who has nothing on the two I share hotel rooms with would want to talk to me.

"Hi," I mutter, turning back to the bar. I'd hoped he would walk away, but considering this is first time anyone has ever engaged me in conversation I don't really know what to expect. I'm a little annoyed when he sits down on the barstool next to me.

"I'm Rob," he says, extending a hand toward me. I really, really don't want to touch his hand…or any other part of him. I swallow in an effort to keep the grimace off of my face. This is what people do; they make small talk in bars with strangers. I can do this.

I nod in his direction instead of taking his hand and respond, "Kenzie." Rob smiles but lets his hand fall. He doesn't seem put off by my lack of words – unfortunately.

"What brings you to Indiana, Kenzie?" he asks, angling his body toward mind. "Are you a student?" I know from his gaze that he's wondering if I'm old enough to be in this bar. That says a lot about the fact that he's still talking to me.

"No," I answer. "Just on a road trip with some…buddies." I don't know why I got caught up on how to describe Sam and Dean. Words like 'partners' came to mind, but so did 'family'. One of them is like family, but the other…it would be really weird to think of Sam as a brother when I've caught myself thinking of him naked recently.

"That sounds like fun," Rob enthuses. "See anything cool?"

I laugh and respond, "You have no idea." I consider telling him what we've seen, but I'd rather not see the poor guy wet his pants. Or have him call the cops on me for being a lunatic. Rob is quiet for a minute like he's waiting for me say something.

 _How long does it take to pour three beers?_

"Did you order a drink yet?" he asks finally. The cheesy smile is back. "I'd love to buy one for you."

Before I can ask him to just give me ten bucks and go away, I feel an arm slide across the middle of my back. The sandalwood smell accompanies it and I know who is touching me before I hear Sam say, "I'll be the only one buying her drinks, thanks." His voice is firm and I can tell from the look on his face that he's angry with the guy.

Rob puts his hands up and takes a step away. "Hey, man, no worries. She didn't mention she had a boyfriend is all."

That's because I don't.

"Well, she does," Sam says calmly. "But you have a good night." Rob takes that as his dismissal and walks off. As much as I wanted the guy gone, I do not appreciate Sam jumping in to save – especially with a lie. I shove his arm off of me and give him my best glare. Sam was still shooting daggers at Rob's back but when he sees my gaze, his tough exterior cracks quickly. "What?"

"I do not have a boyfriend," I remind him firmly. "You lied."

Sam scoffs and shakes his head. "Yeah, well that guy wanted to be your boyfriend. At least for the night." I grimace at the idea. "And I…" Sam trails off for a moment and looks down, almost embarrassed. "I didn't want him talking to you."

Sam Winchester is jealous. I consider doing a happy dance. How does someone like me make a guy that hot jealous? This is a victory for totally average girls everywhere. Still, it's not often I get to see Sam squirm and I'm going to make the most of it. I narrow my eyes at him in a challenge and ask, "Why?"

"You don't know him," he reminds me.

"We talk to strangers all the time," I tell him. "You were a stranger when I got into the Impala the first time, remember? So what's the big deal about a guy in a bar trying to buy me a drink?"

Now it's Sam who narrows his eyes, his frustrated frown wrinkling his strong brow. "What's the big deal if I wanna be the only guy buying you a drink?"

"You're going to have to take that up with Dean and his poker buddies," I note in a lighter tone, referring to the way we got the cash used to pay for our beers. Sam laughs and shakes his head at me, the frustration fading quickly into a genuine smile. "I wasn't going to let him buy me a drink, you know."

"Yeah, I kind of figured you wouldn't," he replies. "I just didn't want him to think it was OK to ask." Sam looks down at me with those eyes and damn dimples of his and I nearly melt. It's not OK for someone else to buy me a drink because he wants to be the only one. I don't know exactly what that means but I know that I really like the feeling.

Finally, the bartender arrives with three beers and Sam helps me carry them back to the table. "You should have just hit the guy," Dean tells his brother as I slide onto the chair beside him. "No one touches our little Mack," he teases, grabbing my head and rubbing his hand through my hair. I shove him away knowing that he finds the situation much funnier than Sam does but just laugh and fix my hair.

The drawing of the tree – drawn onto six different pages because Sam can't stop thinking about except to yell at some guy in a bar – sits on the table in front of me. I pull the notebook toward me and look at it closely for the first time. Dean, in front of the laptop, gets us to work. "I've been cruising some websites," he begins. By that, he means he's hacked into police databases. "I have a few candidates for our next job. A fishing trawler off the coast of Cali found with it's crew just vanished. And we got some cattle mutilations in west Texas."

I don't respond, looking at the picture. I don't know why but the tree looks familiar to me somehow. The nagging pain beginning at the base of my skull makes me uneasy; it always makes me think I'm missing something. I'm supposed to know this tree, I just know it. Dean gets annoyed when neither of us says anything and snaps, "Hey! Am I boring you two with this evil-hunting stuff?"

"No, we're listening," Sam answers. "Keep going."

"And here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head – three times," Dean continues. I hear Sam make a noise of surprise but I ignore it.

 _This tree…wait; I do know this tree!_

Dean taps the table in front of me for attention and asks, "Any of these blowing up your skirt, Mack?"

"Wait…I've seen this," I breathe.

"Seen what?" Dean asks, frowning. I lean across the table and grab their dad's journal, flipping to the back where a few pictures are kept. I've looked through this entire journal and these pictures a dozen times. "What are you doing?"

"This picture was taken out front of your old house, right?" I ask, finding the one I'm looking for. Sam is just a baby and Dean is young, the two of them posing with their mom and dad in a yard with a tree. I show the picture to the guys and ask, "This was the house where your mom died?"

"Yeah," Dean answers slowly and in a questioning, confused tone.

I put the picture on the table in front of Sam and then slide the notebook next to it. His face falls when he sees what I've seen; the tree Sam saw in his dream is the same tree in the yard of their old house. "Dean, the house didn't burn down right? I mean, not completely; they rebuilt it, right?"

"I think so, yeah," he says. "What the hell are you two on about?"

"I know where we have to go next," Sam tells him firmly. "We have to go home. Back to Kansas." Dean just gapes at him silently and I sit back, wondering how honest Sam is prepared to be now. "OK, look, this is gonna sound crazy. But…the people who live in our old house? I think they might be in danger."

Dean blinks and then leans forward, resting his forearms on the table as he frowns at his brother. This is his interrogation face and I know that Sam is in for it now; Dean isn't going to take excuses or secrets. "Why do you think that?"

"You just gotta trust me on this, OK?" Sam asks, putting on his best puppy dog face. Unfortunately, I've noticed that Dean might be the only person immune to that. Both of them look at me simultaneously for help on their side and I look away immediately, taking a sip of my beer. This is between them; I already know everything and Sam knows how I feel about keeping secrets.

"Trust you?" Dean repeats, raising his voice a little. "You gotta give me little bit more than that, Sammy."

Sam shakes his head. "I can't really explain."

"Well, that's unfortunate because I'm not going anywhere until you do." Dean takes a big slog of his beer and slams it down on the table, sitting back and crossing his arms. He's made his stand. Just in time, his burger arrives and to prove his point further, Dean picks the sandwich up and starts eating. I reach over to snag a fry, more than OK with staying here until Sam opens up.

After a long pause, Sam looks over at me again. This time I nod encouragingly and he sighs. "I have these nightmares."

Dean scoffs and quips, "I've noticed."

"Yeah…but sometimes they come true."

Dean freezes with the burger halfway to his mouth. He drops it to the plate, swallows everything in his mouth, and blinks. "Come again?"

"I…I dreamt about Jessica's death for days before it happened," he finally admits, the words coming out in a rush. It's the first time Sam has admitted that out loud; I never made him say after Bloody Mary told me. It sounds like he kind of needed to say it, though.

"You know, sane people have weird dreams, too," Dean tells him with a small shrug. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence; just a dream." He takes another bite of his burger. I fight myself from smiling at him. He's trying to make Sam feel less weird about his admission, and I can tell by the way that he pauses that Sam really appreciates it.

Still, Sam shakes his head and continues, "You don't get it. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire. And I didn't do anything about it because I didn't believe it." My stomach clenches while he talks, remembering the nights of him shaking and sweating, calling out her name in pain while slept. The nightmares are much less frequent and less violent now, but the pain is still there; I can hear it in his voice.

"Now, I'm dreaming about that tree, about our house, and some woman inside screaming for help," he says, pointing to the picture on the table. "I mean, this is where it all started. This has to mean something."

"It doesn't have to," I remind Sam. We had this conversation earlier. He thinks that whatever killed his mom and Jessica is back and going to be at this house. I believe the woman might be in danger but I'm not jumping to those lengthy conclusions.

Dean shakes his head and mutters, "I don't know."

"What do you mean?" Sam demands, looking back and forth between us. "This woman might be in danger and this might be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica."

"Alright, just slow down would you?" Dean demands gruffly, dropping his burger again. He looks annoyed at having to pause in eating. "I mean, first you tell me that you've got this Shining. That's fine; I mean, it's weird but whatever. But now…now you're telling me we've gotta go back home when I – "

Dean stops talking very suddenly, catching himself mid-sentence. I glance over at Sam with a frown and find that he looks just as confused. Dean is looking away from us, uncomfortable – which is very rare for Dean. "When what, Dean?" Sam presses.

He takes a breath. "When I swore to myself that I was never going back there." The pain flashes across my face and that's not something we see often from the stoic but charming and funny older Winchester. Right now, he's thinking about going back to the place where his mom died and it's obvious that he's in pain.

"I'm sorry Dean," I breathe, reaching out and touching his forearm. I don't take his hand even though I'd take Sam's. It's…different. "We have to check this out at least. We have to be sure." Dean looks at me and blinks a couple times before a nod. He throws back the rest of his beer, now ready.

 **…** **Next Day; Lawrence, Kansas…**

Lawrence, Kansas is potentially the most adorable town I've ever been to. It's hard to imagine to tragedy that took place here, the lifestyle it caused, or the two boys it raised. The house itself is the prettiest on the block, two story Colonial style painted blue with white shutters. It's hard to tell where it was rebuilt, but Dean says it looks different to him.

We wait for a long minute across the street, still safely inside the car. Sam is staring at the house like he's waiting for something to happen. Dean is looking at the house too but his expression is somehow even more grim and apprehensive. He's been anxious since we decided on this course of action and it would be hard to blame his. It's not just that his mom died here; Dean was old enough to remember having his whole life turned upside down in this house.

Finally, we head across the street and up to the front door. Dean knocks and then exhales oddly like he might be dizzy. "You gonna be alright?" I ask, nudging his elbow with my own. Sam is already holding my hand and I can feel him shaking just a little. I wonder how much Dean is shaking, but something tells me that he's more in control than that. Or maybe I just like to believe he's always in control…I'm not sure which is true.

Dean gives me a small, uneasy smile and answers, "Let me get back to you on that."

A woman probably in her early thirties, lean and tired-looking but pretty, answers the door. She brushes blonde hair away from her face and looks us over, deciding pretty quickly that we aren't threatening if her smile is genuine. "Can I help you?" she asks pleasantly.

"Sorry to bother you ma'am," Dean begins, using his serious, all-business voice. It's the one federal agent Dean would have. "We're with – "

Sam jumps in and interrupts, using his real voice. "I'm Sam Winchester," he says. "This is my brother, Dean, and my girlfriend Kenzie. We actually…we used to live here." Sam trails off just as the woman smiles a little, interested. His expression goes oddly blank and if he were looking at me that way, I'd be freaked out.

I jump in to try and prevent that for her. "We were driving by and the boys were wondering if they could come and see their old place."

"Winchester," the woman muses thoughtfully. "That's so funny, you know I think I found some of your old photos just last night."

"You did?" Dean asks, his face and voice betraying his surprise. Either he didn't think any pictures were left behind or he didn't think they existed at all. He seems kind of happy about it, though.

The blonde homeowner pauses for another moment to look at each of us in turn. Finally she smiles and agrees, "OK. Come in." On our way inside, she introduces herself as Jenny. The guys each pause just inside the doorway to look around and I give them a minute, following Jenny into the kitchen.

A young girl sits at the dining room table, coloring in a book. A toddler stands inside his play pen area calling out repeatedly, "Juice, juice, juice, juice."

"That's Richie," Jenny explains, heading for the refrigerator where she pulls out a ready-made cup of juice. "He's kind of a juice junkie, but at least he won't get scurvy." Jenny gives Richie the cup along with a kiss on her head. "Sari, this is Kenzie, Sam, and Dean," Jenny tells the girl, touching her shoulder gently. "They used to live here."

"Hi," Sari says softly.

I smile warmly in response and say, "Hey, Sari." It takes me less than a second to decide that something is wrong; the girl is more stressed out than a little kid should be. I send up a quick prayer that she left behind a best friend and isn't afraid of her house.

"So you just moved in?" Sam asks. It's easy to see that from the boxes scattered throughout every room.

"Yeah, from Wichita," she answers with a smile and a nod. "I just, uh, needed a fresh start. So, new town, new job...I mean, as soon as I find one." I keep my face calm. No one moves with kids unless they have a job lined up. This woman took her children and ran from something.

 _Shit…now something else might be after them._

"How are you liking the new house so far?" Dean asks casually.

My throat tightens a little when Jenny's smile falls. "Well, uh, with all due respect to your childhood home…I mean, I'm sure you have lots of happy memories here." I feel Dean tense beside me. "But this place has it's share of issues."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks, maybe a little too interested.

"It's getting old," Jenny answers with a shrug. "Like the wiring; we've got flickering lights almost hourly."

My stomach clenches. Most people would assume faulty wiring or a loose bulb. Us? We know better. I hear Dean behind me, his tone uncomfortable, "Oh, that's too bad. What else?"

Jenny takes a breath and continues, "The sink is backed up. There are rats in the basement." She catches herself suddenly and smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't complain."

"No, that's OK," Sam assures her. "Have you, uh…seen the rats? Or just heard the scratching." Jenny gives him a weird look but then frowns like she's thinking about.

 _Please say you've seen the rats with your own eyes_.

"Actually…just the scratching." Of course; we aren't going to get that lucky…now or ever.

"Mom," Sari says softly from the table. She looks at us though talking to her mom. "Ask them if it was here when they lived here."

"If what was here, Sari?" I ask before Jenny can jump in to pacify her. I had to learn the hard way that the thing under my bed when I was six was actually a demon, spying on us. I want to know what this kid saw.

"The thing in my closet," she answers, looking me right in the eye. Fear flashes over her face at just the mention.

"Oh, no, baby there was nothing in their closets," Jenny assures her. She gives Sam and Dean a pointed look and asks, "Right?"

"Right, no," Dean stammers.

"No, of course not," Sam agrees weakly.

Jenny just smiles gently and explains, "Sari had a nightmare the other night."

"I wasn't dreaming," the girl protests. "It came out of my closet and it was on fire." My stomach all but crashes into my shoes. I hear a thump behind me and look back to find Sam leaning on the counter now, paler than he was when we got here. Dean manages to hold himself together long enough for all of us to thank them and wish the family well in the house. The moment we get outside, the foul mouthed Winchester lets out a string of profanities mumbled almost unintelligibly.

"You guys heard that, right?" Sam demands urgently, moving around Dean and I to walk backward facing us on the way to the car. "A figure on fire?"

"That woman, Jenny, she's the woman you saw in your dreams?" Dean clarifies. I notice that he sounds almost hopeful that Jenny isn't.

"Definitely," Sam says firmly. "And the things she's talking about – flickering lights, scratching? Signs of a malevolent spirit."

Dean shakes his head as we reach the Impala and snaps, "Yeah, I'm a little more freaked out that your weirdo dreams are coming true." I kick Dean's leg with the side of my foot, the movement hidden by the Impala as Sam's standing on the passenger side now. The last thing Sam needs is to believe he was right about Dean's judgment.

"Forget about that for a moment," Sam says, shaking his head and barely even hearing Dean's words as he looks across the hood of the car at both of us. "The thing in the house. Do you think it's the thing that killed Mom and Jess?"

"I don't know," Dean answers.

"Do you think it's been there the whole time or did it, like, come back?" Sam presses. He's obviously kind of worked up over the potential, which I'd been nervous about in coming here. We need to focus.

I keep my voice calm when I note, "Maybe it's something else entirely, Sam. We don't know yet."

"Those people are in danger you guys!" Sam nearly shouts, pointing at the house across the street. "We have to get them out of that house."

"And we will," I assure him. If someone is in danger, we'll get them away from it. That's kind of what we do.

Sam shakes his head, not willing to listen, and starts to storm around the front of the car like he's going back to the house. "No, I mean now," he tells us.

I move at the same time Dean does and we block his path together. "How are you gonna do that?" Dean demands, raising his voice now. "You got a story she's gonna believe?"

Sam opens and then closes his mouth, his face falling into a frustrated grimace. He throws his hands up and asks, "Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Sam." I step forward and press my hands into his chest. I know that during his dreams, physical contact is what calms him down and brings him back to earth. It apparently works when he's awake, too because the moment I touch him I can feel some of his tension ease away. Sam reaches up and clasps one of my hands inside his, leaving it against his chest. His gaze is sad, scared, frustrated, and almost desperate.

 _All those things will get us is killed._

"We have to take a breath and think about our next steps," I tell him. I'm repeating words and using a tone that Jim has used with me when he's needed to calm me down. I still hear his voice even as I say it. "If it was any other kind of job, what would we do?"

"We'd try to figure out what we're dealing with," Sam breathes, his body relaxing visibly. "We'd dig into the story of the house."

"Exactly."

"Except this time, we already know what happened," Dean notes.

I turn toward him and ask, "Yeah, but how much do we know?" I hesitate for a moment, but I know it's important so I ask, "How much do you remember about that night, Dean?"

Dean takes a deep breath and leans against the driver's side door of the Impala. "Not much," he admits. "I remember the fire and the heat. Then I carried Sammy out the front door."

"You did?" Sam asks, his voice surprised. "I didn't know that."

Dean just shrugs and continues even though it seems hard for him. "You know Dad's story as well as I do. Mom was…was on the ceiling. Whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her."

I've heard the story from John himself and from Jim. "And he never had a theory about what happened?" Sam asks.

"If he did he kept it to himself," Dean answers. "God knows we asked him enough times."

"He never shared it with Jim either, that I know of," I tell them. Jim told me that John obsessed over whatever had killed his wife but never gave me a hint if he had some idea what it was.

Sam takes a breath. "OK, so if we're gonna figure out what's happening now, we need to know what happened then. See if it's the same thing." I'm grateful he sounds rational now, and I squeeze his hand.

"Yeah, we can talk to Dad's friends and neighbors," Dean suggests. "People who were here at the time." He shakes his head a little, looking at the ground, and asks, "Does this feel like just another job to either of you?"

"No," I admit. It's not. This is personal and that changes everything. "You tried calling your Dad this morning, yeah?" Dean nods. We thought it might be worth asking him for help or at least a phone call if he knew we were in Lawrence. "I could give Jim a call, find out if he's heard from him."

"I think we should try Dad again," Sam says.

Dean looks like he might argue with him and then pulls his phone out of his pocket. He uses speed dial to call their dad's number and a voicemail I've heard before plays. "This is John Winchester. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean." He spouts off Dean's number for anyone who needs help to call us.

"Dad, I know I've left you messages before," Dean says when the voicemail beeps. "I don't even know if you get these. But I'm with Sam and Mack, and we ended up going to Lawrence on that hunt." He takes a breath and continues, "Dad, there's something in our old house. We don't know if it's the thing that killed Mom or not but…we don't really know what to do. So, whatever you're doing…if you could get here? Please."

Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and says softly, "We need your help."

 **…** **1 Hour Later, Garage…**

John Winchester as a man not a hunter worked at exactly the kind of place I imagined for him. He was still John, after all. It's apparently doing pretty well but still small and about as dirty as every other car shop. Dean decided to canvas some of the neighbors and Sam stayed at the hotel to hack into the police system to look up the reports. I'm at the garage for Mike who was John's business partner twenty some years ago. He buys the cop cover pretty easily. "So, you and John Winchester owned this garage together, is that right?" I ask.

"That's right," Mike answers giving us a nod. He seems friendly enough but is still working while we talk. I don't mind that at all. "A long time ago. God, it has to have been 20 years since John disappeared." He turns and frowns at me when he asks, "So, why are the cops interested all of a sudden?"

"The department reopening some of our unsolved cases," I lie calmly. "The Winchester disappearance is one of them." Mike makes a sound but doesn't question it further.

"Well, what do you wanna know about John?" Mike asks.

"Whatever you remember," I answer. I give a casual shrug and tell him, "Anything that sticks out in your mind." Jim's told me that asking specific questions rarely works in these situations. People rarely realize the significance of what they've noticed.

Mike gives a short laugh and begins, "He was a stubborn bastard, I remember that. And, uh, no matter what the game was he couldn't stand to lose." I raise my eyebrows, pretending to take notes on my pad, but can't help a small smile. Sounds like a couple other Winchester's I know. Mike smiles a little and continues, "He sure loved Mary, and he doted on those kids. But, uh…but that was before the fire."

"Did he ever talk about that night?" I press, hoping I don't sound too eager for information.

"Not at first," Mike tells me, his voice and expression growing sad. "I think he was in shock. And then he just wasn't thinking straight."

"What did he say?"

"He said something caused that fire and killed Mary," Mike tells me, the tone of his voice trying to get me to understand that he's sincere. I believe him without the tone.

I ask, "Did he ever say what did it?"

Now Mike blinks at me in surprise before he shakes his head. "Nothing did it. It was an accident; there was an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or something." Mike takes a breath and sighs. "I begged him to get some help – I really did. But…"

"But what?" I press when he trails off.

Mike sounds exasperated now even after all this time. "He just got worse and worse. He started reading all these strange old books and then going to this palm reader in town."

Palm reader? Oh, psychic. Of course! I can't believe I didn't think of her before. I thank Mike for his help and head out just as the Impala pulls up, Sam and Dean inside. I climb into the backseat while the car idles. "How'd it go?" Sam asks.

"Great," I answer, pulling out my cell phone and looking through the contacts for a specific number. "Your dad went to see a psychic before he disappeared."

"A psychic?" Dean repeats, scoffing. "Why is that great."

I pause to look up at the handsome faces looking back at me, both of them frowning. I frown in response. "Because we know the only psychic in Lawrence. Everyone knows Missouri."

"We don't," Sam tells me, shaking his head.

"Your dad never told you about Missouri?" I ask. I'm not even from this town and I've met and worked with her. She stayed at our house for a few days once and I kept in touch with her over the years. I'm fond of the southern woman who happens to be one of the nation's most powerful psychic talents.

"Wait, Missouri?" Dean repeats. "Missouri? That's a psychic." Without waiting for me to answer, he lunges in front of Sam and into the glove compartment. "Dad's journal." He opens only the cover and says, "First page, first sentence. It says, 'I went to Missouri and I learned the truth'." Dean closes it again and looks up at me. "I always thought he just meant the state."

I roll my eyes and tell them, "We have to go see Missouri." I think for a moment and then shut the cell phone. "You know, let's look up the address in a phone book. I'd really like to surprise her."

"Really?" Sam asks, surprised. I nod and cock my head to the side, wondering where his surprise comes from. "That's…sweet."

I scoff at him playfully. "Don't get all chick flick on me now, boy," I tease him. Sam just laughs but the boys follow my suggestion and it only takes us a minute to find Missouri's address.

Missouri's sweet little house is on the other side of town, but that's not far in a small town. We approach and find a sign welcoming visitors inside. The door opens before we get there and, mostly from instinct, we duck off to the side so that we're hidden. "Now don't you worry," I hear Missouri say in her familiar slow drawl. "Your wife is crazy about you."

A middle aged and kind of heavy guy walks down the path toward the sidewalk. Missouri comes into view, watching him go. She looks the same as the last time I saw her, years ago. "Poor bastard . His woman is cold-bangin' the gardener. Now Mackenzie Lynn Murphy you'd better get out here and say hello to me."

I laugh and join her on the path. Missouri has a broad smile across her face but doesn't reach to touch or embrace me. She only holds out a hand, letting me keep distance from her. That's not as necessary anymore, though; I've kind of just gotten used to it. So I close the distance between myself and Missouri and wrap my arms around her neck. "Oh," Missouri breathes, squeezing me. "You've changed so much."

She's right, of course. She's always right. "It good to see you," I tell her honestly, stepping back a little. Now it's Missouri who grasps my shoulders and looks me over.

"You look good," Missouri asserts with a smile and a nod. "I'll be sure and tell Jim that they boys are feeding you. Now, Sam and Dean come on already. We ain't got all day."

Missouri motions for me to follow her inside and I do, the boys coming in behind me. She leads us into a sitting room and stops, turning to Sam and Dean. "Well, let me look at you," she says to them expectantly. They both give me a deer in headlights glance as she eyes them closely. I just smile and wait. "You boys grew up handsome. And you were one goofy looking kid, Dean."

I laugh and hear Sam snicker while Dean's freckles are momentarily overcome by blush. She turns to Sam and her smile fades. "Oh, Sam. I am so sorry about Jessica." He looks surprised for a moment but then nods and gives her a gentle smile. "You're right, you know. I'd bet Jess would like her…and I don't have to bet that you're passing up one helluva an opportunity."

"I…what?" Sam mutters, looking at me sideways. Now it's my cheeks that are starting to heat up. Dean and Missouri both give me the exact same smug smile and I consider running from the house all together.

"Now," Missouri frowns suddenly. "Your dad. He's missing?"

"How do you know all this?" Sam demands finally, asking it the same way everyone else has I'm sure. Missouri is pretty damn amazing.

"You were thinking about it, just now," she answers. "Didn't you want me to ask about that instead of talking about your crush?"

"Missouri, do you know where he is?" I interrupt, desperate to keep us on track. The last thing I need is to talk about anyone's feelings for anyone else.

"Is he OK?" Dean demands urgently.

Missouri shakes her head slowly. "I don't know."

"Don't know?" Dean repeats. He's anxious all of a sudden. I think it's gotten to him that their dad hasn't answered our calls for help. "You're supposed to be a psychic, right?"

Missouri turns toward him and cocks his head to the side as she retorts, "Boy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think I'm a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies, but I can't just pull facts out of thin air." She pauses to give Dean a minute to look effectively scolded. "Sit! Please."

We obey and move toward the couch, across from the chair where Missouri sits first. I sit in the middle with the guys on either side of me. With Missouri right there, I try not to think about the way Sam's leg against mine is making my skin tingle or that I can still smell his shampoo in front of the person who knows everything. Of course she also knows that I'm trying not to think about it.

 _I never should have suggested coming here._

"Boy if you put your foot on my table, I will whack you with a spoon," Missouri tells Dean firmly. Judging by her expression, I think she'd actually do it.

"I didn't do anything!" he protests.

I give him a look and my most sarcastic smile when I note, "But you were thinking about it." He glares at me and Missouri chuckles a little.

"Missouri, when did you first meet our dad?" Sam asks, leaning forward a little. His tone is polite, like he doesn't want to get yelled at.

"He came for a reading, a few days after the fire," she answers. Her tone is sad like the memory makes her sad. Jim told me once that he though being as powerful as Missouri must be exhausted because she has to feel everything that the people around her do. "I just told him what was really out there, in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back a few curtains for him."

"And what about the fire?" Dean continues. "Do you know what did it? What killed our mom?"

Missouri has a deep frown on her face. "A little," she answers cautiously. "Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing." She looks away.

"Could you?" I ask. "Could you tell what it was?"

"No, I don't know," she answers. I know she's being honest by her tone. "But it was…evil." My throat tightens when she actually shudders a little. She's been around a long time and seen many, many things. What is so evil that it makes Missouri look like that? She recovers and blinks, looking back at us. "So, you think something is back in that house?"

"Definitely," Sam responds with a solemn nod.

Missouri stands and shakes her head slowly, her frown only getting deeper. "I don't understand," she breathes. "I've been keeping an eye on the place, and it's been quiet. No sudden deaths or freak accidents."

"So why is it acting up now?" Dean asks. Missouri just shakes her head, and I sigh. That's not really helpful.

Sam leans back into the couch. "Dad going missing, Jessica dying just like Mom died," he begins. "And now this house…all of it happening at once. It just…I can't help but feel like something is starting." I swallow, wondering if he might be right. John said something to that effect on a voicemail he left Dean, months ago now.

"That's a comforting thought," Dean groans from beside me, his words expressing my feelings exactly. We don't dwell on it further and decide that we need to get Missouri to the house. She'll be able to tell us what's happening inside those walls.

When we knock at her house, it takes Jenny a minute to open it. She looks frazzled and she's clutching the baby, Richie, like her life depends on it. Something has happened, obviously. "Kenzie?" she asks. "Sam and Dean, what are you guys doing here?"

"Jenny, this is our friend Missouri," Sam tells her. "If it's not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the house. You know, for old time's sake."

Jenny looks down at Richie and then around, kind of nervous. "You know, this really isn't a good time."

"Jenny, this is important," Dean urges her. Without warning, Missouri pinches the back of his arm and makes Dean yelp.

"Give the poor girl a break," she scolds him. If we weren't standing out front a haunted house, I'd life. I like seeing Dean get in trouble.

 _God, we are like brother and sister._

"Forgive this boy," Missouri says to Jenny, gently. "He means well, but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out."

"What…what are you talking about?" Jenny stammers, still clutching Richie to her in a way that too close to just be normal.

Missouri gives her a concerned look and says, "I think you know what I'm talking about. You think there's something in this house; something that wants to hurt your family. Am I right?"

I see Jenny's throat work as she swallow and she glances down at Richie, her skin growing pale. "Who are you?" she asks.

"We're people who can help," I assure her. "But you're gonna have to trust us. Just a little." Jenny pauses for a moment but then nods and steps aside. We ask her to keep an eye on the kids in the kitchen so that we can take a look around, and Jenny doesn't ask anymore questions or get in our way. She's scared and it's not because of us.

"Damn thing already tried to hurt the boy," Missouri tells us as she leads the way upstairs. "Locked him in the refrigerator, just before we got here. Thank goodness Jenny got there in time."

 _Shit._

"Cussin' inside your head is no better than saying it out loud, Mackenzie Lynn," she says without looking back at me. I wish she couldn't make me feel so contrite, but I roll my eyes at her use of my full name. As a kid, it was all Jim called me. When I asked for Kenzie, he gave in with no argument. A few people we knew – hunters, mostly – hung onto my name. It annoys me but makes me miss Jim, too.

Missouri leads us down a hallway like she knows exactly where she wants to go and heads into a bedroom. It's likely Sari's judging by the décor. "If there's a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it."

"Why?" Sam asks.

"This used to be your nursery," Missouri tells him. I glance up at Sam who goes a little pale and looks around as if entirely uncomfortable. I reach out and grasp his hand. He always seems grateful for that and I never mind the way he squeezes my much smaller hand inside his.

Deans pulls out his EMF meter – a new one that I bought him – and mutters, "This is where it all began."

"That an EMF?" Missouri asks, looking at the device. She scoffs and quips, "Amateur." Before anyone can laugh, her face falls and she turns, moving quickly toward the closet. She opens the French doors, revealing only clothes and some boxes. "I don't know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain't the thing that took your mom."

I don't know if I feel disappointed or relieved. The guys each look a strange mixture of both. None of us wanted to take on whatever that thing is without John's help, but all of us considered the possibility that we might kill it here.

"You're sure?" Dean asks, not challenging her this time. "How do you know?"

"This isn't the same energy I felt the last time I was here," she explains. "It's definitely something different." Missouri finally stops studying the closet and closes the doors again.

"What is it?" Sam pushes.

Missouri shakes her head. "Not it; them. There's more than one spirit in this place."

I frown at that. Except for in places where mass casualties occurred, it's rare that more than one spirit will occupy a place at a time. They're oddly territorial. "What are they doing here?" I ask.

"They're here because of what happened," Missouri explains. "You see, all those years ago, real evil came to this place. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds…and sometimes wounds get infected."

"You're saying this place is some kind of magnet for paranormal activity?" Dean clarifies.

She nods. "And it's attracted a poltergeist – a nasty one. This thing won't rest until Jenny and her babies are dead." The look of grave concern in her eyes makes me nervous.

"You said there was more than one spirit," Sam notes.

"There is," she says. "I just…I can't quite make out the second one."

Sam's hand squeezes mine more tightly. He's anxious. Dean hasn't stopped fidgeted since we got back to this town; he hates being here at all. They're both messed up about this and I want to fix it for them even more than I want to save Jenny and her kids. I take a breath and assert, "Well, one thing is for damn sure: no one is dying in this house, ever again." I look to Missouri and ask, "What do we need to do?"

 **…** **That Night, Jenny's House…**

"So what is all this stuff anyway?" Dean asks. Missouri has laid out some strange things on Jenny's kitchen table and asked us to wrap them up in cloth-like bags.

"Angelica root, crossroads dirt, a few other odds and ends," she answers dismissively as if it's not important to know.

"What are we supposed to do with it?" Sam questions, holding his bag in his hand. Mine almost dwarfs my palm and the same sized item looks almost tiny in his big hand.

"We're gonna put them inside the walls," Missouri informs us. "We'll need to do it in the north, east, south, and west corners of the house and on each floor."

Dean grimaces and notes, "Jenny's gonna love us punching holes in her drywall."

"She'll live," Missouri replies. She's got a point.

I hold my bag up and ask, "And this will kill the spirits.

She nods. "It should. It should purify the house completely. So we each take a floor but we must work fast. Once the spirits realize what we're up to, things are gonna get bad." I don't like the sound of that at all, but I don't dwell on it either.

Missouri heads into the living room to make sure Jenny and the kids are ready to go. Jenny protests a little but goes, taking her kids out to a movie or something. She just knows that it's not safe for them to be here until we're done and the poltergeist is gone for good. We split up and I offer to take the basement while Dean is going to stay in the kitchen, Missouri is going up to the old nursery, and Sam will be in the attack.

I grab one of the hammers and head down the stairs, determined to follow Missouri's advice and move quickly. The light bulb hanging at the bottom has a string, but nothing happens when I tug it several times.

 _Awesome; I guess I'm doing this in the dark_.

I find myself hoping that there aren't actually rats in the house but move through the basement using my flashlight. The north wall, though, is nothing but concrete. It would take me an hour to get in there and when I hear a smash from upstairs, I know that my window of safety is closing. I've got to hope that the house has settled and I can find a space or a crack. I start moving along the wall, running my hand and the light beam over it to find a space.

Loud bangs emit from upstairs and it sounds like the table is moving. Everyone is going to be in trouble if we don't all get this done soon. Finally my hand slips into a space where the concrete has split. It's narrow, but I think the bag will fit. I don't have a chance to find out before something slams into me from behind. I'm knocked forward onto my hands and knees, the flashlight dropping but not the bag.

I think to spin around and defend myself, but something grabs onto my throat and yanks me backward. I nearly flip from the force but can't yell out on impact with the ground. There's a cord of some kind that I find around my neck with my fingers, and it's too tight to breath or cough or move it. My heart starts to pound loudly as I struggle with an invisible force, just trying to get the wire to give a tiny bit, just enough for one breath.

There's a pressure building in my head as I kick my legs out, hitting the wall hard. My chest is on fire now, starved of oxygen and a darkness is starting to cloud what little vision I have. "Kenzie!" Sam yells from behind me. He darts almost over me and I watch him grab the bag, shoving it through the space and into the wall.

The second the bag disappears, I'm released and the cord falls lax. I drops my arms to the ground and take the biggest breath in that I can manage, the sound coming in like a wheeze that makes me cough. The pressure in my head and chest starts to fade instantly and I close my eyes for a second, relieved.

"Kenzie," Sam breathes. He appears over me, his shaggy hair hanging downward toward me and his hands planted on either side of my head. "Are you OK?"

"I am now," I answer honestly. I can breathe. You'd think that would be enough to make me happy, but I'm even more pleased about my proximity to Sam. I can see his dimple even in the dark as he smiles and I let him shift to pull me into a sitting position so that he's kneeling in front of me now. I'd be more productive if he was less hot, but if he wasn't all him then I wouldn't get this warm, tingly feeling deep down inside me in moments like this.

In moments when he looks at me like I'm the only thing he can see…just for a moment.

He narrows his eyes like he's concentrating and begins, "Kenzie, I – "

"Mack?" Dean calls, thundering down the stairs like an elephant instead of a man. "You OK?"

Moment over. I start to pull myself up off the ground and answer, "Yeah, yeah I'm OK. Missouri with you?"

"I'm fine dear," I hear her call. Sam stands and holds hand out to me which I take, letting him pull me the rest of the way up. The cord that had been around my neck falls and I follow it, finding that it came from a lamp that was in a box. I guess I should appreciate the spirit's ingenuity.

Upstairs, the kitchen is in total disarray. The dining room table is flipped over, cabinets have been emptied onto the floor. Looks like the thing went after Dean. I feel guilty, knowing that it had time because I took too long to get my bag into the wall. I should have moved fast, but at least for now everyone is OK. Missouri seems completely relieved but I can tell Sam is tense still. "Are you sure this is over?" he asks.

"I'm sure," she replies. Her face falls and she looks at him closely. "Why? Why do you ask?"

Quickly, Sam shakes his head and says, "No reason." It's a lie, I can tell right away. I know that Missouri knows as well.

"Hello?" Jenny's voice calls from the other room. She's returned with the kids. "We're home." She appears in the kitchen, Richie asleep in her arms and Sari at her side. Their eyes go wide when they see the mess. "What happened?"

"Sorry. We'll, uh…we can pay for all this," Dean tells her, looking around himself.

Missouri shakes her head and says, "These kids are gonna clean up this mess, don't you worry." I blink, surprised, but know better than to argue and motion for Sam to help me with the table. Dean doesn't move for a moment and Missouri turns to look at him. "What are you waiting for? Get a mop." Dean makes a face but heads for the closet anyway with Missouri calling to him, "Don't you cuss at me."

 **…** **2 Hours Later…**

"Please tell me again what we're still doing here." Dean is laying down in the back seat of the Impala. We're parked, across the street from the house they used to live in, Jenny's house now. We dropped Missouri off and then Sam insisted that we come back here. In the hour we've been parked here, he hasn't taken his eyes off of the house.

"I don't know," he admits. "I just…I have a bad feeling."

"Missouri did her Zelda Rubenstein thing," Dean reminds him. "The house should be clean now. This is all over."

"You're probably right," I tell him. "But there's nothing wrong with making sure." I know how anxious I feel when the headaches come on, so I can imagine that Sam is feeling that way after his dream. If he needs to stay here for nothing. then at least he'll feel better. And if something does happen, then we'll all be grateful that we were here.

Dean groans. "The problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now." I roll my eyes and we stay quiet. I'm looking toward the road in front of us, not the house simply because my eyes are getting tired. It's like when you say the same word so many times that it starts to lose all meaning; I need a break from staring at the same damn thing.

"Kenzie," Sam breathes from beside me. He motions toward the house and I look up. There, in the second story window, is Jenny. She's panicked and screaming words we can't hear, banging on the glass with both hands.

"Dean!" I shout while shoving open the driver's side door. I keep the rifle that had been on my lap and run for the house, keeping stride with Sam. At the front door, he kicks it and finds that it's not budging.

"Move!" Dean yells from behind us. He approaches with an axe and I barely get out of the way before he starts swinging, making short work of the wood while the door remains closed unnaturally. We step through and can hear Jenny screaming as she starts down the stairs.

"Dean, get her outside," Sam yells to him. "We'll get the kids." I don't argue or hesitate and lead Sam up the stairs, past Jenny who Dean has to wrestle with while she screams. I take off in the hallway, aiming for Sari's room because it's the furthest away and I'm the fastest. I throw myself into the door, grateful when it swings open.

Sari is sitting up straight in bed and staring at her closet. Right there, walking out of the closet and towards us, is the thing Sari saw in her nightmares…which were definitely _not_ nightmares. "Let's go!" I shout, grabbing her. Sari snaps out of her terrified stupor and comes with me. I move her to run ahead of me down the hall and can hear that Sam is already at the bottom with Richie.

As we reach the stairs, something grabs my ankle and pulls. It takes my legs right out from under me and starts to yank me backward. Sari screams at the top of her lungs while I grab the banister to stop myself from moving. It's strong though and I won't be able to hold on long. "Sari, run! Get out of the house and don't look back!" I shout at her. The girl obeys and her head just disappears as another tug breaks my hold and I'm moving.

I'm dragged on my stomach back down the hall and into Sari's room, the carpeting burning on my arms while I try to grab hold of anything. I have no weapon, no defense, and I can't stop the thing from throwing me clear across the room and into the wall. The drywall cracks with the force of impact and I have to blink to clear the stars. The room is empty now and for a moment I wonder if that's it.

Then the pain. Something is stabbing me in my stomach, but nothing is there. It's like a vice grip in the middle of me, and I can barely breathe through the searing pain. The fear doesn't really come until I start moving up the wall…toward the ceiling. I thrash, trying to grab at nothing in front of me but my limbs get pinned down.

A sound catches my attention and then the figure appears, first a glowing white and then burning on fire. It walks from the closet toward me and as I try to scream something at it, the vision inside the flames becomes more clear. There's a woman in there; a woman I've seen before. My heart nearly stops when I recognize her.

"Mack!" Dean shouts as he and Sam burst into the room. They stand frozen for a moment, horror on their faces as they watch me on the wall now several feet off of the ground and see the burning figure.

"No, Kenzie!" Sam yells, pain breaking his voice.

Dean lifts his rifle, his face changing into a serious and controlled expression. "No!" I manage to gasp out. "No, don't! I…I can see her now." The pain gets worse when I try to talk and I close my eyes, trying desperately to move anything – my head or even a finger. I'm completely trapped and I can't even see the thing doing it and now she's here. Overwhelmed, I feel my eyes start to fill with tears.

The flames in front of me start to simmer and then go out, leaving a beautiful blonde woman wearing all white. She gives me a gentle smile and then turns toward the guys who are both trembling visibly. "Mom?" Dean manages to mumble.

"It's OK now," she whispers softly. I watch her look to Sam and her face becomes sad. "Sam…I'm sorry," she says.

"For what?" he asks, eyes big and wet.

Without answering, Mary Winchester turns back toward me but this time she isn't looking at me. "You," she says firmly. The lamp on the bedside table starts to rattle as the whole house begins shaking violently. "You let go of that little angel, right now," Mary demands. My heart clenches in terror at her words; what did she call me?! Does she –

I don't have time to consider it because I am released, and I crash to the floor. Mary looks up at the ceiling and then shouts, "And get out of my house!" The house continues to rock as Mary's spirit is engulfed by a light so bright that I have to cover my face as it sears my eyes. In a flash, the light is gone and the house is still. Mary has vanished as well.

The guys both say their own variations of my name simultaneously and rush across the room, dropping to their knees on either side of me. "I'm OK," I assure them before they can ask. My hands are shaking and I'm confused, overwhelmed, and nervous. But there's no blood or broken things. Mary saved my life from God knows what.

"You have got to stop getting attacked, Mack," Dean says firmly. "You're gonna give me a heart attack."

"I'll work on it," I promise, letting him take my arms and pull me up. I lose my breath when he crushes me into his chest, his hand firmly on the back of my head as he leans down to kiss my hair. Just as quickly, he pushes me away and marches out of the bedroom as we hear sirens start. "He is so weird," I mutter, shaking my head and fixing my hair. It's about the nicest thing Dean has ever done, and I'm trying not to blush.

I start to follow him from the room but Sam catches my arm. He moves quickly, pulling me backward hard enough that I can't resist moving but without hurting me. I gasp in surprise when my back hits the cracked wall and I frown at Sam but don't get a chance to ask what he's doing.

I barely even get a change to think before he takes my face inside both of his hands and leans forward, his lips pressing into mine harder than I expected them to. He's urgent but cautious, not demanding but insistent…and he doesn't need to be at all. My whole body melts, Sam's lips warm and soft exactly the way I've imagined they'd be. The movement of my lips comes naturally despite it being my first time trying this, following his lead as he molds his mouth against mine. My heart races harder now than when the poltergeist attacked me and it only gets worse when I feel his tongue slip along my bottom lip.

The unfamiliar touch sends as shockwave down into core and I gasp in surprise. It breaks the kiss so I reach out immediately and grasp Sam's shirt; I don't want him to think I wanted the kiss to end. That's the very last thing I wanted. A small, gorgeous smile flashes across his face and he asks softly, "You know that now you can't let other guys buy your drinks, right?" I laugh hard and earnestly, pushing him away from and rolling my eyes. Sam looks different; he's at ease, I think.

The walls of the room flash a red, then blue. The police have arrived and they're going to want to know what happened. I'm sure Dean has already given Jenny a script, but we need to go. Sam knows this as well and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together as we leave his first house. I really, really hope that this is the last time we need to come here but it's going to be tough for me to have bad memories of the place now while my heart continues to race.

Sam kissed me. Sam Winchester kissed _me_. Finally.


	10. 1x10: Insanity

It feels good to hear Jim's voice, even when he doesn't have good news for me. "No, he was in California last we heard," I tell him, answering a question about John. "And that was months ago."

I'm reclining on one of the beds, my head rested on Sam's hard but somehow comfortable abs while he lays across the mattress in the other direction. Dean is on the other bed, cleaning out several guns methodically. He cleans them much more often than they need it. "He talks to you a lot though so we were hoping you'd heard something in the last couple weeks," I tell Jim. He knows we called John for help when we were in Kansas; we all assumed John would have at least tried to call us back since then.

"No, I haven't heard anything," Jim tells me. "I've talked to Caleb and Jefferson, too; radio silence on their end."

"Great," I groan, disappointed by the information.

"I'll let you know right away if we hear anything, of course," Jim assures me. "And what about you? Everything still OK after Lawrence?"

"Things are good," I tell him. It's only a half lie. I am fine. We're safe for the moment which is the most important thing. Plus…there's Sam. There haven't been any dates or flowers because, you know, we have a pretty time consuming job. Still, there's been more little touches and sometimes there's the kissing.

 _I really, really like the kissing._

Plus, when he's not stressed out or arguing with Dean there are moments like this when we can all lounge around. The times when they aren't arguing are becoming less often, though. Sam is even more adamant than ever that we should be looking for their dad and that's what we've been doing for a couple weeks, trying to find leads that pretty much don't exist. Dean isn't as into it though, and that frustrates the younger brother.

Jim isn't asking about their quarrels, though, so I don't tell him. I don't want to make him worry about any of us. "How are you?" I ask earnestly. "You doing OK?" I worry about him, often. I don't like not being around to protect him if something happens, make sure that he's not overworking himself, and try to get him to eat well.

"I'm good," he assures me, his voice not suggesting otherwise. "Things have been calm here, so a little bored."

"I prefer you bored when I'm not around," I tell him, smiling.

He chuckles on the other end and teases, "This from the girl who traveled cross country for adventure."

"Adventure and a job," I remind him although I laugh, too. I sigh and note, "I should get back to the guys, speaking of a job. They both said to tell you they said hi, by the way."

"Well please send them my love and tell them they're in my prayers," he requests just as he always does when we hang up. "Text me when you figure out your next step."

"Always," I assure him. "Be careful."

"That's my line. But I will."

"Me too." I let the pause linger because I don't really want to hang up and then say, "OK. Talk to you soon, Jim. Bye."

"Bye, Kenzie." I close the phone, ending the call.

"Nothing?" Sam asks even though he knows the answer. I like the way his body rumbles under my head when he talks.

"Nope," I answer. "Not from Jim, Jefferson, or Caleb. John hasn't been around for munitions or anything." I take a breath and sit up so that I can see Dean. I feel the mattress shift as Sam does the same behind me. His hand slips slowly across the small of my back, barely a touch on the skin exposed by my t-shirt riding up but it's enough to send heat to my core. I swallow to try and focus. "What about the journal? Any lead in there?" I ask Dean who's been looking through it the last couple days.

"No, same as last time I looked," he huffs in response. "Nothing I can make out anyway. I love the guy but I swear he writes like Yoda."

Sam's hand falls away now and I feel him tense as the mattress bounces a bit and he comes to sit beside me. "Maybe it's time we called the feds and filed a missing person's." I bite back a scoff.

"We talked about this," I remind him calmly.

"Sammy, Dad would be pissed if we put the feds on his tail," Dean notes even though we've said this before. You don't put the heat on a hunter without serious repercussions.

"You know, I don't really care anymore," Sam informs us. "After everything that happened in Kansas? I mean, Kenzie was attacked!"

"Sam." I only say his name, just as a warning. He might be a great kisser but I'll tear him a new one if he makes me out as a victim.

Sam shakes his head and continues, "I'm just saying that he should have been there." He looks back and forth between Dean and I. "You both said so yourselves. We tried to call him; we asked for help."

"I know," Dean replies absentmindedly because his phone started buzzing somewhere in the room. He frowns and stands to start looking.

Apparently his doing so frustrates Sam because he snaps, "He could be dead for all we know."

"Don't say that," I scold him firmly. "He's not dead."

"Then what is he?" Sam asks, throwing his arms up. "He's hiding? He's busy?" I open my mouth and close it again because I just don't have the answer to that.

Dean finds his phone and mutters, "I don't believe it," while staring at the screen. His tone is disconcerting. We wait for an explanation and Dean sits on the other mattress. "It's a text message. Coordinates."

I blink just as Sam asks, "You think it's Dad?"

"He's given us coordinates before," I remind them, standing and taking the phone from Dean. I move toward the laptop with a goal of finding out exactly where we need to go. It's the only logical move.

"Texting?" Sam muses. "The man can barely work a toaster."

"Sam this is a good thing," Dean tells him. "It means he's alive and probably OK."

"Was there a number on the caller ID?" Sam asks.

"No, it came up unknown," his brother answers. I hear them but I'm mostly ignoring them, quickly figuring out what's happening. "So where do the coordinates point Mack?"

"That's kind of interesting," I admit. "Rockford, Illinois."

"Why is anything about Illinois interesting?" Dean asks, his voice skeptical and confused.

I shoot him a look for doubting me and then tell him, "I checked the local newspapers. This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift and shoots his wife. Then he puts the gun in his mouth and blows his own brains out." I have their attention now. "Earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Rockford Asylum."

"I'm not following," Sam admits, leaning toward me a little. Dean however is already moving and I know that he's figured out what I have. The two of us study the journal more than Sam does so I know what page Dean is flipping for. When he finds it, he turns the journal toward Sam and hands it over.

"Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal," he tells him.

Sam frowns but takes the journal. He reads from the page, "Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths."

"Until last week at least," I add.

"This must be where Dad wants us to go," Dean says and I agree, giving a firm nod. We should head out for Illinois first thing in the morning.

"This is a job," Sam breathes. "Dad is sending us on a job." I can hear the frustration in his voice. He had hope that John sending coordinates would be about us meeting up.

Dean sighs deeply. "Maybe we'll meet up with him there," he suggests. "Maybe he's there." I know Dean doesn't believe that I think Sam does, too.

"And maybe he's not!" Sam snaps. "He could be sending us on another damn hunt by ourselves."

"Who cares?" Dean demands, meeting Sam's volume level so that they're both only just not shouting. "If he wants us there, it's good enough for me."

"Sam, your dad is telling us to go somewhere," I interject, standing up and determined to put an end to the fight for now. "We're hunters and if we're given a job to do, we do it – especially if it comes from John." Sam blinks at me for a moment like considering an argument but then his expression softens. "It's settled then. We're going."

"Great." Dean stands and grabs his jacket even though it's pretty damn warm out. Of course, I'd wear that jacket all the time if I looked that way in it as well. "I'm gonna go grab dinner. Burgers?"

"Can you get me a salad?" Sam asks.

Dean gives him a look of utter disgust. "I don't even know you anymore," he whines sarcastically. Then he points at me. "Please tell me I can count on you, Mack."

"Bacon cheeseburger and don't you dare forget the fries," I respond happily. If there ever comes a day when I take lettuce over meat, the boys will need to put me out to pasture. Dean beams at me, sticks his tongue out at Sam playfully, and leaves while we laugh at him.

I turn and look down at Sam who is still sitting on the bed. I take a breath and say, "OK let me have it. How pissed are you that I took Dean's side…again?" Sam doesn't respond for a moment and I start to get concerned. He moves quickly, grabbing me at the hips and yanking me forward, tossing me haphazardly onto the mattress beside him where I land on my back. I squeal in surprise but laugh when I land.

Sam flops backward next to me and turns his head toward me. "I'm not pissed," he tells me. "I'm just…not like you guys."

"You think we just take orders," I note, looking away from him. "We think we're doing a job and helping people. Yeah, that makes us different."

"We asked my dad for help, Kenzie," Sam reminds me. "And he ignored us and, whether or not you want to talk about it, you were pretty close to getting seriously hurt." I roll my eyes but let him continue. "So, now it's even more important for me to find him. I need to why he's doing this to us, why he's left us to find for ourselves."

I nod slowly and tell him, "I get that. And I want to know, too."

"I'm just not as patient about it as you guys are," Sam muses, his voice grumbly. He sighs and I look over at him. "Plus…finding Dad means getting closer to finding the thing. And I owe that to Jessica."

"I get that," I promise him. Sam rolls on his side toward me, his head propped up on his hand above his elbow. I can't help a smile and reach up, pushing my hand back through his soft hair. He leans into my touch and I swear that if people could purr, he would. The thought makes me smile. I'm hoping that with him relaxed, I can be honest. "I just want us to stay together on this. We're a team."

Sam's expression becomes pained just for a second before he recovers and gives me a small nod. "You're right; we're a team." Something about his tone makes me think that he's not entirely certain about that or about all staying together. I can't really blame him; he had another life. I'd probably want it back, too. I know that his attitude makes Dean feel like of low though and it definitely makes me feel like crap.

"Kenzie," he breathes, moving his head to catch my gaze. "I don't want to split the team up, I promise." This time he's more earnest and it makes me feel better, so I smile easily and nod. The smile grows naturally when his deep greenish-brown and sometimes even blue eyes flash down toward my lips.

My heart stops when I know the kiss is coming and then pounds hard when our lips finally meet. His lips are always just so damn soft. I try my hardest not to seem eager whenever he kisses me, and while I'm sure I always fail he never complains. I feel the stubble on his cheek when I reach up to hold his cheek, totally reveling the way he explores my mouth with his pillow-soft and warm tongue. It's much more natural than I thought it would be – this whole kissing thing – and I just meet each movement of lips and tongue with my own.

The whole thing is just entirely perfect, whether it's urgent and hot and demanding or soft and sweet and patient. It's perfect right up until the lock on the door beeps and Dean comes sweeping inside. I jump nearly out of my skin like I always do and Sam just kind of laughs at me as he rolls away, releasing me. "Disgusting," Dean sings at us in his rough voice.

"The kissing or Sam's salad?" I ask, making both guys laugh. Dean turns his back toward us, facing the table to remove our food from the paper bag he's brought it home in. Sam sits up beside me and takes my face between his hand, giving me one last hard kiss on the lips. When he releases me, I manage a second to kiss his cheek before we stand.

Kissing Sam, bacon cheeseburgers, and a job waiting for us. I couldn't really ask for much more right now.

 **…** **3 Days Later; Rockford, Illinois…**

The plan is simple; we have to get some information from a source. The closest source to the town, the asylum, and the most recent victim is the dead cop's partner. Daniel Gunderson is on a short leave of absence while he deals with the death, and it doesn't take us long to find him in a bar. The plan goes forward and I leave the guys in the car to head into the bar. I sit a few stools away from Daniel and order a whiskey, ignoring him and sipping it slowly.

"Excuse me, sir." I recognize Sam's voice, so I don't look up. "You're Officer Daniel Gunderson correct?"

The cop pauses for a minute and then mostly just barks, "Yeah."

"I'm Nigel Tufnel," Sam lies. I sip to hide my smile. "I'm with the Chicago Tribune." I hear Sam pull out a stool and sit down as he continues, "Do you mind answering a couple questions…about your partner?"

I hear Daniel's beer bottle hit the wooden bar hard. "Yeah, actually I do mind," he snaps at Sam. "I'm just trying to have a beer here."

"I just want the story in your words," Sam pushes.

"A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair," Daniel tells him. "And now he's dead. Are you really gonna ambush me here?"

Sam doesn't let up. "Sorry, but I need to know what happened."

I don't even see Dean coming which is good because it likely means Daniel didn't notice him watching. He shoves Sam right off of the barstool and backward so that Sam has to catch himself before falling. "Hey buddy, how about leaving the guy alone?" He shoves him again, harder than he might need to just to pull off this little stunt. "The man is an officer!" Dean continues. "How about you show a little respect and we go outside!"

Sam yells something that I ignore back at Dean because I'm paying attention to the officer now. He looks appropriately stressed, frustrated, and just very sad. This is my chance. I slide down a few stools, keeping just one between myself and Daniel. "Hey, you OK?" I ask him gently.

He looks over as if surprised to see me but then sits up a little straighter and sniffs, gathering himself. "Oh, yeah. Idiots."

"The both of 'em," I agree. I hesitate but only because it would be natural to hesitate and then ask, "Is that true? You…lost your partner?" Daniel takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and nods just a little. "Let me buy you another beer," I suggest. I raise my hand to the bartender who notices me right away and motion toward Daniel's bottle when I tell him, "Two, please."

That's really all it takes. The cop has obviously been itching for someone kind enough that he can really vent to, and vent he does. I leave him with a paid tab and a more positive outlook almost an hour later. Most of what I said to him were things I'd heard Jim say, and that's really the only trick I had so I'm glad Daniel is a Christian. Daniel had much more to say, though. I think it was a success so I'm happy when I climb into the Impala where the guys have been waiting for me.

"That took a while," Sam notes, looking back over the seat at me.

"I had to get everything, right?" I shrug my shoulders a little, knowing Sam wasn't thrilled about this plan when we designed it.

"So what did you get?" Dean asks.

"Officer Kelly was a good cop," I tell them, leaving out the sobby details about how much he liked Spike Lee movies and comics. "He was head of his class, really even-keeled. The guy had a future on the force."

"What about at home?" Sam asks.

I shrug and tell them, "Gunderson knew of a view fights he and his wife had, but nothing extraordinary. Says it was mostly smooth sailing and they were talking about having kids."

Dean takes a breath. "OK, so either this guy had the crazy seed deep down inside or something else did it to him." I nod, agreeing that those are really the only possibilities here.

"What about the asylum?" Sam pushes, angling his body more toward me and frowning. "Did Gunderson know anything?"

"A lot," I tell him. "That night, the cops chased some kids into the south wing. He told me that back in '72, three kids broke into the south wing and only one survived. The way the kid told it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place."

"So whatever's going on, the south wing the heart of it," Sam muses. "Sounds like we need to get down there and check it out." Dean doesn't need more approval than that to take off, tires squealing while I get thrown further into the leather at my back. I scowl at the back of my head but don't complain and we speed toward the other side of town.

The asylum is exactly the kind of place that attracts kids on a dare. It's creepy and old, threatening to just fall apart. The area outside is surrounded by a wire fence and each door is covered in signs warning people to keep out while the windows are guarded by bars. It's obvious that whomever boarded this placed up was trying to keep people out…or in.

Unfortunately, with a hole in the fence, it's disturbingly easy for us to get inside. The inside is dusty and cluttered but with sunlight coming in through the windows, it's not particularly creepy. The walls are littered in graffiti and beer bottles, cigarette butts, and condom wrappers are scattered about. It's obviously something of a popular little hangout. "So if kids are spelunking the asylum, why haven't there been a ton more deaths?" Dean wonders aloud.

I hear a rattling noise behind me and turn to find Sam, holding up part of a broken chain that had been wrapped between door handles. The sign over those doors reads 'South Wing'. "It looks like the doors are usually chained," Sam notes. "They could have been chained for years."

Sam drops the chain and opens the door, holding it for us. I go through first, finding myself in a hallway. There's no graffiti in here suggesting that Sam was right and it's been chained up until recently. The guys follow me through and I hear the door bang closed behind me as we continue, passing a couple of stretchers and some wheelchairs. "Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel," Dean teases.

I roll my eyes and Sam barks, "Dude, lay off."

"Your brother doesn't know how to be nice to you," I inform both of them. "But he's actually just trying to tell you he's concerned. Spirits can be attracted to psychic abilities." It's a concern I've had, too.

"Yeah, like the ESP thing you've got," Dean chimes in.

"I told you it's not ESP," Sam interjects. "I just have strange vibes, sometimes, and weird dreams. It's no different than Kenzie's weird thing with the headaches."

He's got a point but Dean ignores him and continues to tease. "Yeah, yeah. Don't ask, don't tell."

I look back at Dean, holding and slowly sweeping his EMF meter. "You getting a reading on that thing?" I ask, hoping we can manage to focus on the task at hand here.

"No," Dean answers with a frown. "Of course, that doesn't mean nobody's home."

"True," I agree.

"You know, spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day," Sam reminds us as we reach what looks like some kind of holding room. There are metal hooks on the wall with chains and metal cuffs hanging from them. I can't help but be nauseated at the idea of mentally ill people being restrained like that – or people in general, really.

Dean nods and agrees, "The freaks come out at night." We continue on, finding a few cell-like areas behind closed doors. Finally we come to what looks like a procedural room and a rough one at that. There are still blood stains and with the straps needed on the tables and chairs, I have trouble believing there was any informed consent happening here. The electric saws and metal hooks as tools only make me more disturbed.

"Electroshock, lobotomies," Sam says with a grimace, reading through what looks like some kind of book he found. "They did some twisted stuff to these people."

"Kind of like my man Jack in 'Cuckoo's Nest'," Dean suggests enthusiastically. I flash him a smile but roll my eyes, only making him smile more.

"So what are we thinking?" I ask. "Ghosts possessing people?"

Sam shrugs and says, "Maybe. Or maybe more like Amityville or the Smurl Haunting."

Dean, who looks a little too excited considering the topic of conversation, nods and says, "Ah, spirits driving people insane. Kind of like my man Jack in 'The Shining'." Now I laugh at him and Sam just shakes his head. We continue looking through the drawers, cabinets, and piles of papers for clues. .

We don't get far before Sam asks, "Hey Dean, when are we going to talk about the fact that Dad isn't here?" I clench my jaw. I was wondering how long it'd be before we got here.

"Hmm, let's see," Dean begins. "Never."

"I'm serious," Sam protests.

Dean stops and drops what he was holding back onto the metal tray with a loud bang. "So am I," he asserts firmly. "Look, he sent us here so he obviously wants us here. We just have to pick up the search for him when we're done."

"It doesn't matter what he wants," Sam tells us, shaking his head in frustration again.

"See, that attitude right there is why I always got the extra cookie," Dean quips, pointing a finger accusing at his brother. I frown and elbow him in the side. Sam has enough issues of inferiority when it comes to the one of them that their father preferred. Dean isn't going to help their relationship by bringing it up.

Sam doesn't notice and continues, "Guys, Dad could be in trouble. I think we should be looking for him full time." He throws us hands up and adds, "And I think we deserve some answers! I mean, this is our family we're talking about here."

Dean softens finally and says, "Sam, I get that. But he's given us an order."

"So, what? We always have to follow his orders?" Sam demands.

"Of course we do," Dean answers him honestly.

"I think that's stupid," the younger Winchester responds, shoving his foot as far into his mouth as he can. I turn and look at him, keeping my face even but certain that he'll know why I'm bothering. I watch his eyes flash back and forth between me and his brother as we both stare at him. The implications of what he's said are obvious and his face falls. "No, I…I don't mean you guys are being stupid."

"Just shut up," I mutter. I lift up what I've found; it's a plaque that looks like it designated the doctor's desk at some point. I read from it, "Sanford Ellicott."

Dean nods and says, "Good, a name is always a starting point. We need to find out more about the South Wing and see if something happened here." I nod and head toward Sam. He stands still while I reach past him, not touching him, and take the procedure book he'd been looking through. With it in hand, I join Dean and we leave the room ahead of Sam.

"Guys," I hear him breathe from behind us.

I was raised by a good, religious man who taught me that when I have nothing nice to say I shouldn't say anything at all. Dean has followed his father's orders his entire life, becoming a hunter in the process. So have I and I even followed an order from their father – the order to join them in California, stay with them, and help them in any way I could. We follow orders and we take jobs where people need help even if it's not best for us or our families. It's just what hunters do. Maybe Sam isn't a hunter in the way Dean and I are. Maybe we all need to come to terms with that.

 **…** **Dusk; Hotel Room…**

As soon as Dean gets out of the shower, he wants to know where we are in the research. I'm always grateful if I have something when he asks; Dean has never been disappointed with me that I know of, but the idea of failing him in some way bothers me. So when he asks with a mouthful of both toothbrush and paste, I'm grateful I can tell him quite a bit about the asylum. Sam, laying beside me on the mattress, props himself up on his elbow. He's been quiet while I researched, not sleeping but not interested in research or conversation. It's unusual for him but I'm not going to get concerned yet.

 _We have too much work to do._

"So the south wing is where the hospital housed its real hard cases," I tell them. "The psychotics and the criminally insane."

"Sounds like a cozy place," Dean quips.

"It gets worse," I assure him. "One night in '64, the patients rioted. They attacked the staff and attacked each other."

"So, what the patients took over the asylum?" Sam asks, disbelief shining through in his voice. I had to read it twice myself; it's a little too movie-script to seem like reality. Still, I nod because that's what's happened. "Any deaths?"

"Some patients and some staff," I answer with another nod. "Apparently it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff Ellicott."

Dean spits into the sink and then frowns at me. "What do you mean they were never recovered?"

"Reports say cops scoured every inch of the place, but the guess is that the patients must have stuffed the bodies somewhere well hidden."

"That's grim," Sam grumbles from behind me. I can't argue.

I continues, "So after that they transferred the remaining patients and shut down the hospital for good."

"So we've got a bunch of violent deaths and unrecovered bodies," Dean muses.

Sam finishes, "Which could mean a bunch of angry spirits." I've been thinking along the same lines, of course. This kind of event is exactly what creates evil spirits – it's textbook. Sam surprises me with his next sentence because it's the first time he's shown any agreement or initiative for this job. I smile when he says, "We gotta check out this hospital tonight."

 **…** **Almost Midnight; Rockport Asylum…**

We make our way inside the building late, when we don't think the police or any annoying kids will be around. It's much creepier at night and the moment we enter the south wing, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Every part of my body tells me that there's a terrible evil here and I can't help but rub at my forehead, a pain aching there.

"You OK?" Sam asks, touching my shoulder gently. "Headache?"

I nod but don't want to talk about it. "Dean, are you getting a reading?" Each of us is armed with a shotgun and salt-rounds. Dean has his EMF meter and Sam is holding a video camera, both invaluable.

"Big time," he answers grimly. I look over his shoulder to find that the lights on the meter are flashing red violently, signaling spirits here.

"This place is orbing like crazy," Sam notes. "There are definitely multiple spirits out and about." He turns his screen in my direction and I'm a little disturbed to catch sight of at least four balls of light floating or zipping around in the hallways right in front of us.

"If the unrecovered bodies are causing the haunting, we have to find them and burn them," Dean says. It's not going to be any easy task. The patients know the building better than we do, and being crazy adds a level of creativity to their advantage.

"Let's just be careful," Sam suggests.

Dean nods and agrees, "The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer."

A hand brushes my arm. Sam is cute, but this doesn't really seem like a good time for flirting. I look down toward the hand as it touches my arm again, planning to move it but without hurting his feeling. I only need a second to realize that the pale, bony hand is not Sam's.

The body attached to the hand is even worse. The woman has taken severe trauma to her head. Well, at least she did. She's dead now and has definitely been dead for awhile. "Shit!" Sam shouts, apparently noticing the spirit. I don't get nervous until he shouts and it only last a second because of the expression on the dead woman's face. She's moving toward me, matching each of my steps backward, but she's not coming at me. There's something sad in her eyes, but nothing…mean.

The woman starts to lift her hand toward me as Dean snaps, "Mack, get down." I don't actually want him to shoot, but I know better than to make him wait so I drop to my knees just as the bang erupts and echoes off the walls around us.

Sam reaches down immediately to help me up but I can't shake the strange feeling. "That was weird," I breathe.

"You're telling me," Dean agrees. "Why didn't you shoot it? Or run?"

I shake my head. "I mean it's weird because she didn't attack me." The guys exchange glances and I know they think I'm crazy so I insist, "She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try."

Sam gives me an odd look, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. I think he's taking me seriously even though it's crazy. "If it didn't want to hurt you," he begins to ask, gently but earnestly. "What did she want?" I shake my head but give no answers, simply because I don't have one. It doesn't make a lot of sense.

Spirits that sick around on our plane after their bodies have died have a purpose. Usually, the person died in such an angry or violent manner that they simply can't let go long enough to move on. Sometimes it's about revenge and Jim even hunted one spirit that was just trying to protect his family from what killed him. That spirit still attacked Jim and even innocent people who approached his family, like his son's girlfriend. The spirits are angry even if they don't need to be.

That woman – the spirit – did not act or look or feel angry, though.

 _Something strange is going on around here, I know it._

We begin to continue on but don't get far before a banging noise catches our attention. I raise my shotgun in preparation but feel like I don't want to shoot it. In the corner up ahead, a table has been turned onto it's side. The bang came from there and behind the table is a perfect hiding place. Dean takes the lead because he's Dean and we follow him slowly, Sam now holding weapon instead of camera.

Dean looks back at us and motions, giving the two of us direction to take place while he moves the table. I stand just behind his left side, aiming to the space that will become available when the table is moved. Sam moves silently toward the tables other side just incase the spirit moves that way. My heartbeat is hard but not fast; it's adrenaline and not nerves in situations I know I'm well trained for.

With the barrel of my shotgun just beside his shoulder, Dean moves confidently and yanks the table. It falls, the tabletop crashing to the concrete floor. My whole body jumps in surprise when the girl – a living, human girl probably older than me – screams and covers her face.

 _I'm glad I looked before shooting_.

"It's OK, it's OK!" Dean tells her quickly, holding up his hand to show her that we aren't attacking. "We aren't going to hurt you."

The girl exposes her eyes and then her face after a glance at each of us. I don't miss her sigh of relief. Dean extends a hand down to her and she takes it, standing and dusting her clothing off. She's pretty but pale and I can see in her neck that her pulse is rapid.

"What's your name?" Dean asks her. I wonder if he's considering hitting on her; it wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing he's done.

"Katherine – Kat," she answers, her voice unsteady.

"OK, I'm Dean," he tells her. "This is Sam and Kenzie." He never introduces me to other people with 'Mack' – the name he uses for me. I don't know if that's because he wants to be the only one using it, but I like to think so.

We have more important things going on than my name right now, though. "What are you doing here?" I ask her, not hiding the tone of my voice to suggest that she's stupid for behind here and I'm annoyed by it.

"My boyfriend, Gavin," she begins.

Sam raises his eyebrows and asks, "He's here, too?" Great, more people we have to stop from getting hurt.

"Somewhere," answers, her voice cracking with emotion. It's obvious they were separated. Kat rolls her eyes as they fill with tears and she tells us, "He thought it would be fun to try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just, you know – pretend." She shakes her head, starting to get worked up. "I've seen things! And I heard Gavin scream, and – "

"Alright," I cut her off, trying to stop her from having some kind of hysterical breakdown.

"OK Kat, Sam's gonna get you out of here and we're gonna find your boyfriend," Dean announces, not asking Sam or anyone else if his plan is acceptable. He never does and for the most part, I don't mind. We take our lead from the most experienced and that's Dean; plus, he's oldest – literally the big brother. And Dean takes his direction from someone else, too. Of course, Sam shoots Dean a confused and kind of frustrated glance because he doesn't like to take direction from anyone.

He doesn't need to argue though because Kat yanks her arm away from Dean and states firmly, "No! No, I'm not gonna leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you."

"Kat, I can appreciate how you feel," I assure you. "But it's not a joke around here. This place is really dangerous."

"That's why I have to come with you," she responds, her tone and face firm now. Maybe she's found her bravery. Either way, I don't really care to have her with us. We don't need to fight with her, though. Time is always of the essence on a hunt.

Dean takes a breath and relents. "I guess we're gonna split up then. You guys head that way?" he suggests to Sam and I. We nod and turn, leaving Dean and Kat to go to the east with we head back toward the south. We need to find Gavin and periodically call for him, hoping for a response but I'm not optimistic. Hopefully whatever is driving people insane in this hospital hasn't gotten to Gavin yet.

Gavin. "I like that name," I say aloud, just making conversation in the dank hallway. "Gavin."

"What do you mean you like it?" he asks. Sam gives me a quick, sideways glance that I can't really read. "Like…for a kid?"

"Or a person in general, but yeah I guess so." I shrug my shoulders.

Sam is thoughtful for a moment. "You think about stuff like that? Like, kids…and their names?"

I laugh at the way he words it and shake my head a little. "I'm not some adorable chick who sits around planning her wedding her kids names but sometimes the thought crosses my mind." I'm being very honest and open with him – I don't think I've even told Jim I have these thoughts. "It's nice to think about something other than the job and…I don't know. I guess those thoughts make me happy."

He's quiet again for a bit and we call for Gavin a few more times. "Do you think you'd raise your kids as hunters?" he asks quietly, turning his head to look down at me. I don't know what he wants or expects my answer to be but it's something I've thought about.

"I consider the options," I tell him. "And I'd much rather my children hunt than be hunted."

Before he can respond – if he was going to – a noise catches my attention. There are plastic strips hanging down as a barrier into a room at my right. I motion toward it but don't need to because Sam is already aiming his shotgun and standing closer to me. I take an opportunity to inhale, reveling in his natural sandalwood scent instead of the wet, moldy death odor that's surround us.

 _Focus._

I move slowly through the plastic strips, parting them slowly and taking one cautious step at a time inside. There's someone toward the end of the room, hunched basically in a ball and covering his head with his hands. I can hear his breathing and sniffling from here, can see him trembling. It's definitely a human so I call out softly, "Gavin?"

The boy's whole body tenses and he throws himself backward, onto his ass where he starts to scramble away even with the wall just a few feet behind him. "Gavin, it's OK," Sam says, lowering the shotgun. "We're here to help." He looks at us skeptically as we reach him and Sam offers him a hand to get up with.

"Who are you?" he stammers skeptically.

"I'm Sam, this is Kenzie," he answers. "We found your girlfriend."

Gavin jumps suddenly to his feet and demands, "Kat? Is she OK?"

"She's worried about you but she's fine," I tell him, keeping my voice calm to try to keep him calm. I notice that his arm, near his elbow, is bleeding. I motion to it and ask, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," he answers, giving his arm a quick but dismissive glance like it doesn't hurt. "I…I fell. I was running."

I frown and ask, "What were you running from?" When Gavin's face pales, I know he's seen something like what Kat alluded to. What we need to know, though, is if he had the same kind of interaction that I did.

Gavin swallows hard. "There, um, there was this girl," he manages, his voice breathier now. "Her face…it was all messed up."

My heart skips a beat as we might have an opportunity for a real clue here. "OK, Gavin, listen. This girl. Did she try to hurt you?" Sam glances at me quickly but doesn't make a face or anything, even though my little theory here is nuts.

"Um…no," he answers cautiously, his face unmasking his confusion. Being confused is very much normal in a situation like this; at least he's not in shock. He looks between us like he might be kind of embarrassed, too. "She um…she kissed me."

I blink, letting that sink in. It's about the weirdest attack I've ever heard. Granted, the patients were mentally defunct in some way…maybe they still are. Sam recovers from the surprise before I do and presses, "OK but she didn't physically hurt you?"

I look at him, surprised that he seems to believe my idea. Gavin looks at him, much more surprised and for a different reason. "Dude!" he exclaims. "She kissed me!"

"Trust me, it could have been much worse," I tell him, shaking my head and rolling my eyes at him a little. "Now do you remember anything else about it?"

"Actually," Gavin begins, his eyes widening as he nods. "Yeah. She, uh…I think she was trying to whisper in my ear."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know!" he exclaims again. "I ran like hell." Fair enough. Gavin's not going to give us anymore information if he doesn't know anything else, so we head back into the hallway. This time we move toward the east so that we can find Kat and Dean, and reunite the lovebirds before getting them the hell out of here.

As we walk, Gavin behind us and clumping along loudly, I nudge Sam with my elbow and tell him, "Thanks. My theory about that spirit not attacking me is crazy but…you believed me. Like, right away. That's…" I nod a little, unsure of what to say. I decide on, "That means a lot to me."

"You're the smartest person I've ever met," Sam informs me, his face earnest. "And I went to an Ivy League school. If you have an idea or a theory, I'm on your side."

I can't help a smile though I try to fight it while I feel my cheeks start to heat up. I'd be lying if I said I was complimented often. And I've never been complimented by guys like Sam: smart, strong, gorgeous. It definitely isn't a bad feeling and I let it sink it.

A scream nearby, following by Dean shouting, "Kat!" quickly interrupts the moment.

I take off running, leaving the guys a few feet behind me. Turning a corner I find Dean, yanking as hard as he can on the rusted handle to a metal door that isn't budging. "What happened?" I demand, hurrying to his side.

"One of them has her in there!" Dean snaps, his face covered in anger and frustration.

Kat screams and as Gavin and Sam reach us, her boyfriend shouts her name. "Please, get me out of here!" she responds, high pitched and clearly terrified.

"Kat it's not going to hurt you," Sam announces calmly before I can even clear my thoughts. "Listen, Kat. You have to calm down and you have to face it."

"She has to what?" Dean demands.

Inside, Kat echoes him. "I have to what?"

"The spirits," I begin explaining to him. "They aren't trying to hurt us; they want to communicate. It's why the woman didn't attack me and one tried to whisper something to Gavin." Dean does not look convinced.

Sam presses his hands against the door as he stands closer to speak to Kat more clearly. "Kat, you have to face it. Listen to it."

"You face it!" she snaps in a screech.

"Kat this is the only way you're going to get out of there," I tell her."

"No!" she screams. I feel bad but we need her to get a grip.

"Look at it!" Sam orders her. It's easy to assume that whatever took her inside is still in there with her, judging by the level of her panic. "That's all. Come on, Kat, you can do this."

There's a long silence while I listen to the pounding of everyone's hearts. "Kat?" Gavin calls after a few beats.

No response. "Damn, I hope you guys are right," Dean mutters.

"Me, too," I admit. Suddenly there's a clanging noise from the other side and then a slow screech of metal on metal. Sam steps back as the door swings outward, revealing a pale but unharmed Kat standing just inside.

Gavin pushes past us as he breathes, "Oh, Kat." He goes to her and wraps his arms around her in a hug that the girl doesn't return, her face covered in shock.

"Did it say anything?" I ask her, dying to know.

Kat nods slowly. "It whispered my ear, but all it said was Room 137. Then it disappeared and the door opened." I look up at Sam, then Dean, all of us exchanged the same knowing but concerned glance. This doesn't feel like it's a good thing.

"OK, you were right," Dean breaths, eying our company out of the corner of his eyes. "They don't want to hurt us."

"We need to find out what they _do_ want, though and why," I note. I look over at Gavin and Kat. He's got an arm around her shoulders but she's not returning the affection. If a guy dragged me into a haunted asylum, I wouldn't be his biggest fan either. Of course, I walked into a haunted asylum of my own accord so I wonder what that says about me. "Are you two ready to leave now?" I demand. We can't afford them being in the way any longer.

"That's an understatement," Kat breathes, nodding emphatically. She shrugs Gavin's arm off of her and gives him a dirty look that he doesn't even notice.

 _Boys_.

"You get them out of here," Dean tells Sam. "Me and Mack will go check out Room 137."

Sam scoffs. "What? No!" I don't miss the fact that he glances at me.

"Sam, didn't you notice the door at the end of the hall?" I ask him. "It was barricaded after we came in, and the windows are barred. I'm not gonna be able to break something down to get them out – but you can, and I can watch Dean's back."

"Everything's boarded up?" Dean asks, frowning. "You think it's trying to keep us in?"

I nod as Gavin asks, "The patients?"

"No, something else," Sam answers, sounding as sure about that as I feel. Whatever's happened the people who came here, it's not the patients doing it. He sighs and nods, "Fine." He points at Dean and orders, "But you watch _her_ back."

Without warning, Sam closes the distance between us. He takes my chin in his hand and kisses my lips, too quickly for me to have time to respond but too passionately for me to avoid reacting. He breaks away and gives me a firm nod as if to tell himself something, and then turns while Kat and Gavin follow him.

"Sap," Dean mutters as we head off in the other direction.

I smile and retort, "Man whore." Dean laughs. Laughter or joking or just being happy can be difficult in these situations, but somehow Dean always manages. It might be what I appreciate most about him, more than his leadership or loyalty; Dean keeps me from going crazy.

He's serious as all hell as we continue on, though, the hallways only getting darker as the windows get fewer and farther between. We end up in the basement, totally unable to find any room numbers at all. I'm starting to get discouraged, looking around what appears to be another exam room, when Dean calls out, "Patient Journal."

He's flipping through something that looks similar to a hunter's journal and I join him, regretting it immediately. "Jesus. This guy was brutal," I mutter. The journal details some of the procedures and experiments Dr. Ellicott took the liberty of performing on patients who couldn't consent.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," Dean teases. I throw an elbow into his rib and point down at the page he was getting ready to turn.

"Look. He had some kind of procedure room down in the basement."

Dean nods. "OK. Let's go get Sammy so he's not wondering around with Casper and bring him with us." I'm never a fan of splitting up and Sam should have gotten rid of Kat and Gavin by now, so I agree and we head back the way we came.

My thoughts run, as they always do, on our walk back. "You ever consider the fact that if we told most people the truth, we'd totally end up in a nut house?"

"Can you imagine if like, the feds found the journal?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

"No," I answer honestly. "Even worse – what if some chick you brought home from the bar found it?"

Dean laughs and shakes his head. "That'd ruin any moment." I laugh in response, grateful for the slightly lightened moment. "I can't imagine what my mom would think if she knew what Dad did, what he has us doing. Or what Jessica would have thought if Sam told her the truth."

I just shake my head, unable to really wrap my head around discovering all of this from the other side. It's been my life for as long as I could remember, like Dean. I'd say like Sam but…it's just not true for him right now. Suddenly, just as we turn down a hall, there's a loud blast that sounds a lot like a shot gun. I get a quick view of a blonde holding a gun before dodging back behind the wall, managing not to get loaded full of rock salt. "Dammit!" Dean shouts. "Dammit!" he repeats.

"Don't shoot!" I call out. "It's us!"

"Sorry!" Kat replies, her voice high pitched. I dare to poke my head around the corner to glare at her. "Sorry!"

Dean, patting some extra salt off of his jacket, joins me walking toward them and asks, "What are you still doing here?"

I freeze, panic gripping me, when I realize that Kat and Gavin are alone. "Where the hell is Sam?"

"He went to the basement when you called him," Gavin answers.

My stomach drops. "We didn't call him," Dean argue, frowning.

Kat glances between us and explains, "His cell phone rang, and he said it was you?"

"Basement?" I clarify, wanting to get to the right place as quickly as possible. Something told Sam to go to the basement and we need to get down there – now.

I turn and start running, planning to keep pace with Dean to protect both of us. He moves backward with me, calling to them, "Stay here and watch yourselves." As we ran the corner and he turns forward, Dean yells back, "And watch out for us."

This time we're silent, moving down to the basement as quickly as we can without getting caught off guard. The basement is one of the scariest places I've ever been. First, it's freezing which is never a good sign. There's a wet smell to the whole area and it's nearly pitch black. Dean calls out in a stage whisper, "Sammy?"

"Sam, are you down here?" I call, poking my head into a different room. "Sam!"

"Sam!"

Suddenly I take another step and crash into a tall, warm form who smells like sandalwood…and something different. Something I've never noticed before. I don't dwell, just relieved Sam is in one piece. I punch his arm and tell him, "Dammit, answer when we're calling you!"

"Are you alright?" Dean demands, hurrying toward us.

"I'm fine," Sam answers with a nod. He frowns a little and notes, "I figure it wasn't you guys who called though. I think something lured me down here."

"Yeah, and we think we might know what," Dean tells him. "Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us. Have you seen him?"

Sam shakes his head but frowns, "How do you know it's him?"

"We found his logbook," I explain. Dean starts moving down the hall, deeper into the basement, and I follow him. "Apparently he was experimenting on patients. Really awful stuff that makes a lobotomy look like a couple aspirin."

"But it was the patients who rioted," Sam notes, following me down the hallways. We've reached the end, an all dark and all stone room. Dean starts looking around immediately, guiding a hand along one of the walls.

"The patients rioting against Dr. Ellicott," I inform Sam who raises his eyebrows in surprise. "He was working on some kind of rage therapy; he thought if he could get his patients to vent their anger, he could cure them. But it only made them worse and worse, and he didn't stop."

"So we're thinking the spirit is doing the same thing," Dean chimes in, still along the wall. "To the cop and the kid in the 70s. He's making them so angry that they become homicidal. So we need to find his bones and torch 'em."

I nod and follow Dean's lead, taking the other wall. Sam is still frowning and hasn't moved from the middle of the room. "How?" he asks. "The police never found the body."

"The logbook said that he had some kind of secret procedure room down here," I tell him. "It's where he did most of the experiment. So if I was a patient, I'd drag his ass down here and do a little work of my own."

"I don't know," Sam breathes. "That sounds kind of – "

"Crazy?" Dean offers. "Exactly." We're surrounded by crazy people, literally. Crazy is the only normal in this building.

"I looked everywhere though," Sam protests. "I didn't find a hidden room."

Dean pauses toward the corner of the wall as he murmurs, "That's why they call it hidden." He looks back toward us, holding up a finger to motion for us to stay quiet, and asks, "Hear that?"

I cock my head toward the wall, listening. There's air moving; he's found a door. "There's a door here," Dean observes triumphantly. He puts his shoulder to the door and prepares to push it in.

"Dean." Sam's voice his hard, cold. It's unusal so I look at him and find that he's got the shotgun pointed at his brother. There's also a bead of blood coming from his nose. My mouth goes dry. "Get away from there."

"Sam," I breathe, confused and concerned. My heart starts to race.

Dean turns back, eyes the gun and Sam, and his expression hardens. "Sam, put the gun down," he says slowly.

"Is that an order?" Sam responds, sneering at him. I can see his rapid pulse, a vein in his forehead popping out, and his hands shaking. He looks more enraged than I've ever seen him, or possibly anyone at all. "Because I am getting pretty damn tired of taking your orders."

I swallow hard. "Sam, Ellicott did something do you. Didn't he?" I ask, trying to keep my tone gentle.

Sam looks over at me, his eyes narrowed, and he retorts, "Shut your mouth – for once." Immediately I don't feel bad for him anymore. Actually I kind of wanna kick his ass. It's not him saying this, though, so I take a deep breath and bite my tongue.

"What are you gonna do Sammy?" Dean demands, angry now as well. "The gun's filled with rock salt. It won't kill me."

"No," Sam agrees. "But it'll hurt like hell."

"Sam!" I shout, just as he fires the shotgun directly at Dean. The force of the blast even with just rock salt sends Dean flying backward. He hits the hidden door which comes down hard as one solid piece and breaks into a million dusty bits when they both crash to the ground.

While Dean coughs, Sam is moving toward him. I hurry, putting myself directly in between the two of them. I look up at Sam, hoping we might still be able to get through to him before this gets worse. "Sam, this isn't you," I say. "We've gotta burn Ellicott's bones, and then you'll be back to normal."

I never imagined Sam – even in his rage – would hit me, so I don't see the back of his hand coming until it knocks me hard on the side of the head. I go down and upon landing, the other side of my head hits the concrete hard enough to bounce. The room dims and wobbles at the impact, the pain blurring my vision momentarily. "Mack!" I hear Dean shout. I look over and find that he's distracted by Sam standing over him now, aiming the shotgun down at him.

"I am normal," Sam asserts. "I'm just being honest now. I mean, why the hell are we even here?" He jabs the barrel of the gun toward Dean and snaps, "Because _you_ always do what Dad says, like a good little soldier! Are you really that desperate for his approval?"

I look around, trying to find something we can use to take Sam down. There's a crowbar on the other side of him, about ten feet away. I'm gonna have to get to it without drawing Sam's attention, so I stay on the ground and start to pull myself toward it.

"That's the real difference between me and you," Sam continues, just about snarling now. "I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic like you."

"So what are you gonna do, huh?" Dean shouts back at him. "You gonna kill me?"

"I am just so sick of you telling me what to do!" Sam yells. "We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago!"

Dean shifts a little as he says, "Then let me make it easier for you." He pulls his silver pistol from the waistband of his jeans and holds it out for Sam to take. My heart nearly stops and I consider yelling out, but it would draw Sam's attention to me and I can almost reach the crowbar. "Go on, take it," I hear Dean say. "Real bullets will work a helluva lot better than rock salt."

I hear the shotgun drop to the ground and know that Sam is properly armed now. If we get out of here, I might shoot Dean myself. This is a terrible plan; a man shot his wife because of Ellicott, doesn't he know Sam will actually shoot him?

"You hate me that much?" Dean demands as I finally reach the crow bar. I grab it without dragging it to stay silent and stand slowly. When I turn, Dean lifts the hand closer to me just a little, signaling me to wait. He wants to see what Sam will do.

I circle back slowly, getting myself behind Sam. He's a lot taller than me so I'll need the right angle. Still, I do wait. I kind of want to know if Sam can do it, too. "You think you can kill your own brother? Do it!" Dean shouts at him. "Pull the trigger."

There's a click when Sam does just that, his hands shaking hard. I hear the click twice more and then Dean mutters, "Man, you think I'd give your psycho ass a loaded gun? Now, Mack!"

I swing the crow bar hard, feeling a rather satisfying thud as it connects with the back of Sam's thick skull. He crumbles, down for the count. I didn't hit him hard to enough to do real damage or even to make him bleed, but this way he doesn't try to kill anyone else before Ellicott is taken care of.

"Go see if you can find the bones," Dean tells me firmly, picking the shotgun up again. "I'm gonna keep watch for Ellicott."

I nod and move past him quickly, taking the duffel bag from him as I go, looking for spaces to hide a body when you're angry. There are a couple cabinets under an exam table, but they're empty. No air ducts or vents that I can see. "Mack!" I hear Dean yell. I turn as he fires, finding him face to face with the spirit of a man who looks as crazy as he'd have to be. Ellicott's hands are charged with some kind of bright blue electricity and he reappears, aiming for Dean who shoots him again. "Hurry up!" he shouts.

I look around, trying not to get worked up or panicked. I spot another cabinet, by itself, toward the corner of the room. It's been turned around so that the doors are facing the wall. That's perfect.

I move as fast as I can, kneeling and yanking the doors open. The foul odor that slams into me makes me nearly as dizzy as Sam hitting me does. The body still has some decaying to do and it's the worst smelling thing I've ever encountered. I don't have time to think about it though, and I grab the lighter fluid and salt. With one in each hand, I soak the body as Dean starts yelling again. He's fired a few more times and I have a feeling he's out of juice.

With no time to spare, the body is ready. I reach into the duffel bag and ignore Dean's lighter to find the pack of matches. One stroke and I get a flame, the sulfer mingling with the death to create something even worse. I stand for space and light Ellicott on fire, hurrying back towards where I'd left Dean to watch the job finish.

Dean is on his back on the floor, Ellicott over him. I hear the doctor say, "Don't worry. This won't hurt a bit." His hands threaten right over Dean's and then the doctor himself erupts in flames. I hear him scream and watch Dean cover his face as the fire engulfs Ellicott in seconds. I swear I can hear, in the distance, the sound of a faint cheering.

The patients are finally free.

 **…** **2 Hours Later, Hotel…**

"Do you think Gavin will go into anymore haunted places?" Dean muses, laying at my feet as he flips through movie channels.

"Doubtful," Sam mutters. His head is against my chest so that I can hold an ice pack to the spot where I nailed him earlier. I like to think he's also so that he can cuddle with me. We have a few moments of silence at the beginning of Forrest Gump before Sam says, "Hey, guy? I'm sorry; I said and did some really awful things back there."

I look down at him. "You remember all that?"

"It's coming back to me," he answers with a small nod. "I could hear myself saying it but I couldn't control it." Sam sits up and looks at me, then Dean. "I didn't mean it. Any of it."

I want to believe him but glance at Dean who is definitely skeptical. "You didn't, huh?"

"No," Sam assures him emphatically. "Of course not. Do we need to talk about this?"

Dean shakes his head. "No, I'm really not in a sharing and caring kind of mood." He turns back to the movie and Sam glances at me. I offer him a small smile and shrug my shoulders. Sam moves to rest his head on me again and says nothing else. I can't help but feel like Sam did mean what he said to Dean, somewhere deep inside him. And now that those words are out there, they can't be taken back.

Something tells me that this is all going to lead somewhere none of us really wants to go.

Dean's phone starts ringing on the bedside table. "Do you wanna get this?" I ask him, lifting it but not looking at the caller ID. I don't really care to know which bar fly is calling him.

"No," he answers. "You can."

I roll my eyes but flip the phone open, answering the call. "Hello?"

There's a brief pause on the other end before a gruff voice responds in an almost happy tone, "Mackenzie Lynne."

That's all he says and all that he needs to. I know exactly who's on the phone now. I swallow hard and then manage to breath, "John."


	11. 1x11: Scarecrow

We just finished a hunt. The asylum was a tough one – physically and mentally. I was hoping for a chance to relax, get the guys past a rough patch, and get everyone to recharge.

 _It's not the first time John Winchester has screwed up all my plans._

He called and now instead of any of that, instead of even sleeping, we're following up on a lead. Well, Dean is. And Sam is sulking. To be perfectly honest, I'm sitting in literally in between them – just in case they get any ideas. I don't have a lot of interest in breaking up a fight at 4am. Of course I'm more than a little on edge as well now, knowing that John isn't interested in being found because he's hunting the thing that killed their mom – a demon.

"OK, so the names Dad gave us." Dean hands me a slip of paper with the motel's monogram on the top. The names are re-written in pairs.

"They're couples?" I ask.

He nods and says, "Three different couples who all went missing."

I look back at the paper and notice that Dean has also scribbled something else under each couples name. One says 'Portland', another 'Jacksonville', and the third 'Buffalo'. "Are they all from different towns?" Different states?"

"Each couple took a cross country road trip and none of them made it to their destination," Dean tells me. "None of them was heard from ever again." I frown, not sharing his enthusiasm.

"It's a big country," Sam grumbles on the bed behind me, absentmindedly playing with the end of my ponytail. "They could have disappeared anywhere." He's got a point. I'm not seeing anything here, but Dean still looks kind of excited.

"They could have," Dean says in a tone that suggests he's got more to say on it. "But each of the routed their trip through the same town in Indiana." He hands me a few pieces of paper – maps of the town in Indiana, evidence showing each couples planned routes, and a map of each trip planned out cross country. He's right, they all meet in only one place.

"There's more," he continues. "They traveled in consecutive years and each of them should have gotten to that town on the second week of April…year after year."

"This is the second week of April," I observe, feeling it click.

Dean nods. "Yep."

"Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes this year," Sam observes, suddenly sitting up.

"Yahtzee," Dean quips.

I shake my head, distracted as I look at the papers I'm holding. "Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this?" I wonder aloud. "All the different avenues he must have gone though."

Dean smirks a little and agrees, "The man is a master." John might not have been the best father and his little hide-and-go-seek routine is getting old quickly. But there's no denying the man is one of the best. It'd be great to get to learn from him for a little while, if we manage to meet up while all of us are still alive.

Suddenly, Sam is on his feet. He moves toward his duffel bag and starts roughly throwing his things inside it. I can't see his face but I can tell from his shoulders that he's tense. "What are you doing?" I ask him. "Indiana is only an hour off, we don't have to leave 'til morning."

"We're not going to Indiana," he announces. I raise my eyebrows and dare a look at Dean who is looking at Sam like he's just grown an extra appendage somewhere.

"We're not?" Dean tests.

"No, we're going to California," Sam says firmly. "Dad called from a payphone with a Sacramento area code."

I take a breath and begin, "Sam – "

He slams on of the guns down on the table and turns toward us, frustration marring his handsome features. "If this demon killed mom and Jess, and dad's closing in on it, we have to be there! We've gotta help."

"Dad doesn't want our help," Dean reminds him. John stated that pretty clearly and more than once. He wants us to stay out of it and even to stop looking for him altogether.

"I don't care," Sam protests.

"Sam, he's given us an order," Dean tells him.

Sam throws his arms up and shouts, "I don't care! We don't _always_ have to do what he says."

Sometimes when Sam starts to sound like a broken record about this, it starts to annoy me. He's gorgeous, sweet, wonderful, smart, and funny. And he cares for me more than anyone else who wasn't like a dad to me. I may be crazy about him but that doesn't mean I have to be blind to him and right now I have to swallow to avoid telling him off.

"Sam, it's not like he's sending us off for nothing," I remind him. "Your dad is sending us on jobs – to save lives. And we've saved a lot of them in the last six months. This is important," I urge, confused as to why he doesn't understand that.

 _I guess revenge really can be blinding._

"I understand that," Sam responds, not raising his voice to me like he did with Dean. "Believe, I know it's important. But I'm talking about one week here. Just to get the answers we deserve – to get revenge."

Dean stands and sighs deeply. "Look, man, I know how you feel – "

"Do you?" Sam interrupts. "You were how old when Mom died? Four?" I watch Dean's face pale and stand as well, now really annoyed with Sam. "Jess died six months ago! How the hell do you know how I feel?"

"Sam, that's enough!" I shout firmly, stepping in between them as I see Dean start to square off. "Your dad said that it wasn't safe for any of us. He obviously knows something that we don't."

"So if he says to stay away, we stay away," Dean chimes in, planting his hand on my shoulder. I don't know if it's a stance of solidarity or if he's reminding himself not to jump over me to hit his brother.

Sam laughs in a short, humorless way. "I don't understand the blind faith the two of you have in the man."

"It's called being a good son!" Dean snaps at him.

"And not being a selfish bastard when there are people who need help," I retort, unwilling to let Sam think I'm on his side here. Someone is going to die in that town in Indiana this week. We know that for sure. We don't know that John is in Sacramento or will be by the time we get there and we don't know that we could help. This is where we need to be.

Still, even though I'm firm on this, the surprise and almost hurt on Sam's face when he looks down at me hurts a little. "She's right, you know," Dean says softly, his voice harsh. "You've always been like this. You just do whatever you want and don't care what anyone else thinks."

I know that he's talking about Stanford and I know that he has a point. Sam doesn't seem to see it though and just narrows his eyes at us. "Is that really what you think?"

I look away from his deep eyes, unwilling to be that mean. Dean says it for me, though. "Yeah, it is."

"OK." Sam picks up the duffel bag and tosses it onto his shoulder. "Then this selfish bastard is going to California."

My stomach drops even though something inside me know that it was coming to this. "You can't be serious!" Dean protests.

"I am."

"Sam, it's the middle of the night," I remind him. He doesn't need to be hitchhiking in the dark; humans are more dangerous than the things we face everyday.

"I'm taking off," he tells me. "And I'd really appreciate it you came with me." I feel my throat tighten, both because of the position he's putting me in and because he looks so damn genuine. I want to tell him yes and just blindly be there for him…but I know it's the wrong move.

"I can't," I tell him, my voice cracking just a little. "I…Sam, I'm a hunter. This is where I belong; it's what I have to do." His gaze hardens with frustration, not understanding. He really thought I'd go with him; that only makes telling him to go alone harder.

"Sam, we're going to Indiana in the morning," Dean informs him, his voice gruff with anger. "We will leave your ass here."

Sam turns to the door and pulls it open, pausing to look back at us with a smile. "That's what I want you to do." He glances at me as he mutters to Dean, "Take care of my girl." The door slams hard behind him, leaving the two of us alone.

Neither of us moves for a moment. Dean finally lets out a slow breath and whispers sadly, "Bye Sammy."

 **…** **Next Day; Burketsville, Indiana…**

Dean and I didn't totally stick to our word with Sam. We stayed in the motel until almost noon before finally leaving for Indiana. Dean tried to say something to make me feel better but I barely heard him. I don't like sleeping without Sam anymore. I miss him already and it's been less than 12 hours. Now we have to wonder if he's making it safely to California and head out on a job without him. I almost call him twice and I catch Dean with the selection on his phone hovering over Sam's name once. Neither of us calls him, and he doesn't call us before we reach our destination.

Burketsville is the kind of cute that's so cute it's pretty disgusting. The town looks like something straight out of Little House on the Prairie. It's the only town for miles, but peaceful and quiet. Several people all pass the Impala as we arrive and park it. None of them smiles at us; in fact, their glances in our direction are hasty, almost panicked, and downright rude. It doesn't look like we're the kind of people they want here.

"This place is way too Stepford Wives," I tell Dean, already uncomfortable here. I slip my silver pistol into the front of my jeans and slide my lavender t-shirt behind it, not bothering to keep it hidden. "We need to keep 'em at a distance as much as possible."

"Yeah, I'm getting the creeps," Dean mutters. He pushes his door open first, the heavy metal groaning, and I follow him out. We walk up what looks to be the main drag around here and find a place with a sign out front that reads 'Scotty's Café'.

There's a middle aged guy sitting out front, whittling something with a dull knife and a piece of what looks like maple wood. He must not whittle often because that's the wrong kind of wood. He glances at my pistol with less disdain than Dean's leather jacket and gives a scrutinizing gaze. "Let me guess – you're Scotty?" Dean asks.

"Yep." He doesn't make any effort to shake our hands or smile.

Dean continues, "I'm John Barnom and this is – "

"It's that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?" Scotty interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Dean. Yeah, we didn't see that one coming.

"Wow," Dean falters. "Classic rock fan…good."

"Yeah, our dad was, too," I interrupt, getting us back on track before we get in trouble. "Listen we were wondering if you've seen these people by any chance?" I hand over printed out pictures of the couple to go missing. "Holly and Vince Parker?"

Scotty looks like the picture over for a moment but starts shaking his head almost immediately. "No. Who are they?"

 _Liar._

"Friends of ours," I answer. "They went missing about a year ago and should have passed through somewhere right around here. We've already asked around a few other towns." I tell him this already pretty sure he won't be honest with me. Still, Jim always taught me to give people the benefit of the doubt.

"Sorry," Scotty responds in a voice that suggests he's not at all. He narrows his eyes at us again and says in a tone that can't be mistaken as unwelcome, "We don't get many strangers around here."

Dean gives a short, annoyed laugh and says, "Scotty, you got a smile that could light up a room. Anyone ever tell you that?"

I elbow Dean hard and interrupt before Scotty can tell us to shove it. "Never mind, Scotty, and thanks anyway. We'll see you around." I leave him that last part as a promise and tug on Dean to come with me.

"He's lying," Dean snarls.

"I know it." Instincts come with the job training. "The question is, what the hell is he lying for?" We continue on and make our way into a General Store. It's seriously old school, wood shelves and all. It serves as a diner of sorts as well, with just a few tables available. The counter is manned by a middle aged woman who reminds me of an aunt that a friend of mine had in elementary school. That aunt beat me with a spoon once and this woman looks like she'd consider it.

We show her the pictures and get the same story; not too many people come through this town. Of course, she refers to us as strangers as well. A younger blonde girl comes down the stairs from above us in what I assume in a stock room as Dean asks, "You're sure they didn't stop for gas or anything?"

"Nope, don't remember them," the woman lies. Unlike Scotty, she barely gives the pictures a glance. "You said they were friends of yours?"

"That's right," I tell her with a nod as the girl comes over to look at the pictures.

"Did the guy have a tattoo?" the girl asks. I glance up at Dean who looks pleasantly surprised. Vince Parker had a tattoo of a bird inside a sunset – kind of like the Jack Sparrow tattoo. I remember thinking I hope he didn't model it off of a fictional character.

"Yes, he did," Dean says with a nod.

"You remember, Aunt Ellen," the girl continues with a nudge to her aunt's arm. "They were here about a year ago. They'd just been married."

Ellen's face changes as if she's just seen the sun and she feigns memory, snapping her fingers and everything. "You know, you're right. They did stop for gas. Couldn't have been here more than ten minutes." At that, the girl frowns at her aunt. She catches herself quickly but it was enough to notice; Ellen is telling another lie.

"Is there anything else you remember?" I press, mostly talking to the girl.

"Well, my uncle gave them directions back to the interstate."

Dean leans on the counter and asks, "Could you point us in that same direction?"

 **…** **45 Minutes Outside Town…**

The Impala cruises down a stretch of open road, signs telling us the interstate isn't far. I know that if we hit without finding anything, we'll have to turn back empty handed. I really don't want to do that considering the townspeople have been so damn helpful so far. Besides, this is the sixth day in the 2nd week of April; whatever is going to happen will have to happen today.

We reach the edge of an orchard when the car starts to make a strange rattling noise. I look over at Dean, concerned, and he looks downright panicked that something might be wrong with his baby. In second the engine dies altogether and Dean directs the car off to the side of the road. He turns the key with no effect and shouts, "No! Damn it!"

"You had gas? Oil?" I ask.

"Of course I did," he responds.

I cock my head at him and warn playfully, "Do not make me kick your ass."

"Yeah, whatever," he replies dismissively but I see a little smile playing in the corner of his mouth. Dean looks past me toward the orchard and motions, "There's a house over there. Let's go."

It's really the only option since it would take us a couple hours at least to walk back into town. I get out of the car with Dean and we head through the orchard. The mist is the first thing I notice. It's the middle of the day and the land here is flat – no mountains to be seen. The sky is blue and clear. Where the hell is this mist coming from.

The trees are big and appear to be thriving, judging by the baskets on the ground and branches in the trees both full of ripened apples. We walk a path that seems to be provided almost straight through and come to something of a small clearing, approaching a scarecrow up on a post. I don't see or hear any birds so it must be an effective one. When we get close enough to see it, though, I understand. "Holy shit," I mutter, looking at it.

I've seen a lot of scary, gross, and disturbing things in my time. This scarecrow might be up there with one of the worst. "Dude," Dean groans. "You are fugly."

He continues on and I move to follow him, wanting to get away from the creepy ass thing. As I turn, something on the scarecrow catches my eye. His arm has something on it. Being four feet above my head, I can't see it well but there is a ladder just to the right of the scarecrow. "Wait," I call to Dean. I climb the ladder quickly, stopping just high enough to check out the bare, almost flesh-colored forearm of the scarecrow. On the surface is a tattoo – a bird inside a sunset, almost like the Jack Sparrow tattoo.

I motion towards it and Dean's face hardens. "Nice tattoo," he murmurs, still talking to the thing. "Come away from it."

"Gladly," I answer, jumping down from the ladder instead of climbing. "That's creepier than the Wendigo, you know that?"

Dean laughs once but then his eyes widen. It's not fear, more like he's just thought of something. "C'mon I have a theory about the car." He starts jogging toward the road again and I follow, unable to stop myself from glancing back at the scarecrow one more time.

He has me get into the driver's seat and put the car in neutral, turning the wheel hard to the left. I stand just outside the open driver's door push while Dean stands at the back of the car and pushes, both of us groaning with the effort. We manage to get it turned around and I jump in, starting the engine eagerly. She comes to life with a roar like nothing ever happened. Dean appears at my side and notes, "Something here killing car engines."

"And out here you have no choice but to walk through the orchard," I finish, starting to put the picture of the murders together. Still, it doesn't totally make sense. There has to be a reason the townspeople are sending people here – apparently to face a rather terrifying scarecrow. "Get in, and let's get back to see if we can find out anything else."

Dean scoffs at me and orders, "Slide over!"

I grip the steering wheel firmly in both hands and tell him, "But I'm already here." He gives me a death stare but caves and walks around to the passenger side, slamming the door after he gets in like a child. I just laugh at him and gun the engine back toward the town of creeps.

My smile fades quickly though and I feel a weird sensation of guilt. It feels like we're doing something wrong but enjoying even a moment without Sam. We shouldn't be laughing and playing. And it's not like any of this feel normal. I really wish Dean was fighting with his brother about shotgun and Sam was in the backseat making me fall even harder for him when he starts talking nerd with his theories. "You OK?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," I answer quickly with a nod. "You, uh…you think Sam's OK?"

"I'm sure he is," Dean answers firmly. I don't think he's just saying it for me. "He's always been like this, you know? He does his own thing."

I sigh and say out loud what I've thought a million times before. "He's just not like us." Dean nods slowly to agree but doesn't seem to like the thought anymore than I do. Right now I don't know if being on the road with us is what's best for Sam. I just know that I'd really like to hear his voice and know he's finding John safely.

The rest of the ride back into the town is quiet. We need gas and find that the General Store also serves that purpose, so we pull the car into the back. There's a white pickup sticking half out of the garage next to the pumps. It's the teenaged girl who comes outside to greet us at the full service pump. She actually smiles to see us. "You're back."

"Never left," Dean corrects. "You mind filling us up…Emily?" He's read the name from her overalls.

"So Emily did you grow up here?" I ask, leaning against the car casually while she takes a card from Dean to get the pump started. She seems different than the locals here and since she's been helpful so far, we might as well see how much we can get out of her.

"No, I came here when I was twelve," she tell us pleasantly. "I lost my parents in a car accident so my aunt and uncle took me in. Everyone here is nice."

"So it's just a perfect little town?" Dean presses, turning on that smile full of charm that works on so many girls. I roll my eyes while Emily's cheeks turn a little pink. It does get her to keep talking, though.

"I mean, it's the boonies but I love it." She smiles while she talks and seems like a happy person. "The towns around us are having such hard times. People are losing their homes, their farms. But here? It's almost like we've been blessed."

 _Yeah, honey, there's no such thing as blessings._

"Hey, have you been out to the orchard and seen that scarecrow?" I ask, curious if she knows anything about the thing.

She makes a face and admits, "It really creeps me out."

"Whose is it?" I ask.

"I don't know," she answers with a shrug. For once, someone here is answering questions honestly. "It's just always been there." Damn. I guess if I was running some kind of murder game I wouldn't tell a happy-go-lucky teenager about it either.

Dean has been looking at the truck and now he asks, "Is that your aunt and uncle's?"

"Customer's," Emily says. "They had some car troubles."

Shit. I swallow hard but keep my voice level when I ask, "It's not a couple is it? A man and woman?" Emily smiles and just nods as she replaces the pump, finishing her job and oblivious to what's happening here. We thank her and move the car before heading right back to the General Store, determined to find that couple.

"That would explain why they've been rude to us," Dean notes. "They already found their couple of choice and don't want us in the way." I think he's right and it makes me almost glad that they haven't been nicer to us. We don't need to be on the victim end of any of this. Still, I don't want other people to be either.

We enter the front of the store just as Ellen is bringing a couple sitting at a table two slices of pie. "We're famous for our apples," she tells them. "So you've got to try our pie."

"Oh my gosh!" the woman exclaims. "This is just so nice!"

From behind the counter, Scotty who is smiling a rather kind smile tells them, "That's on the house, too." When he glances up to see Dean and I, the smile falls so hard I'm surprised I don't hear the sound when he hits the counter on the way down.

"Hiya Scotty," Dean enthuses, leading me further into the store. "We'll take a couple of coffees, black. Oh, and some of that pie." Ellen just about glares at us before disappearing behind the counter while we take seats at the table next to theirs. Dean smiles over at the couple and asks in a friendly tone, "How are ya?"

They both smile and we exchange pleasantries. "Just passing through?" I ask them.

"Yeah." The guy beams at the girl and says, "We're newlyweds, on a road trip." I feel something in my chest tighten at the way they look at each other and I think of Sam, wishing he was here.

"We're on a road trip, too, but I'm stuck with my little sister," Dean teases, motioning toward me. I roll my eyes but at least he gets the couple to laugh. It's better if they like us.

Scotty appears at our table suddenly. "I'm sure these people want to eat in peace," he tells Dean and I firmly. Then he looks up at the couple and notes, "Even out here, you can't avoid trouble." He knows we're trying to be friendly for a reason and his sabotage might have worse as I notice the newlyweds exchange concerned glances.

"We're just looking for a little conversation," Dean says with a big, easy smile. "Oh, and that coffee. Thanks." Scotty gives him a dirty look but walks off.

"So what brings you by this town?" I ask, casually making conversation still. Fortunately, they bite.

The woman answers, "We just stopped for gas but the guy at the garage saved our lives. One of our brake lines is leaking; we had no idea. He's fixing it for us now."

"Is that right?" Dean muses. "Nice people." They both nod enthusiastically. "So how long until you're up and running."

"Sundown," the guy answers. No surprise there. Now they think they're stuck here until it'll be plenty dark when they get actually stuck at the orchard.

"Really? To fix a brake line?" Dean leans toward them a little and offers, "You know, I know a thing or two about cars. I can probably have you up and running in about an hour." I try not to wince at how eager he sounds and the couple notices.

They exchange a glance and the guys says, "Thanks a lot but I think we'd rather have a mechanic do it."

"Sure," Dean allows. "You know it's just that…these roads really aren't safe at night." I kick him under the table, silently begging him to stop. He's freaking them out and the wife's face pales.

"I'm sorry?" the guy clarifies, looking back and forth between us.

Dean scoffs a little and looks at me, frustration written all over his face. "You know, if Sammy were here to give them the puppy dog eyes they'd buy right into it."

"Thanks for coming Sherriff," Scotty says, making his way toward the door where a man in a brown uniform is standing. They both glare at us, Scotty saying something to the Sherriff that I can't here.

He comes toward us slowly. "I'd like a word, please."

"Come on, I'm already having a really bad day," Dean informs him, slamming his hand down onto the table and making the couple beside us jump. Either the brevity of the situation, Sam being gone, or the lack of sleep is getting to my hunting partner and he's going to get us arrested. "You don't want to make it worse."

"We're just on our way out of town," I announce, jumping up from the table. I offer the Sherriff a smile and tell him, "We'll see ourselves out." I give Dean a hard stare and he recoils a little, finally standing to follow me out. I immediately punch his arm and snap, "What the hell is wrong with you? We can't help them if we get arrested and you are too damn pretty to go to hick jail."

"I know!" he allows, putting his hands up defensively. "Those people are in danger and won't even listen to it."

I take a breath as we reach the Impala. "Look, all we can do now is stop them from ending up with that scarecrow. We go to the orchard, and we wait. It'll keep us out of trouble here and might give us an idea of what's going on out there." The Sheriff is waiting by his cruiser now and I frown when I motion toward him for Dean's benefit. "It looks like we're gonna have an escort out of town."

Dean scoffs, rolls his eyes, and throws himself into the driver's seat. The Sherriff's cruiser stays in the rearview until we reach the edge of Burketsville and something tells me that he's waiting there for us, at least for a while. "I vote we just burn the damned killer scarecrow," he glowers.

 **…** **Nearly Midnight…**

We got the couple the scarecrow was after out of the orchard with barely any time to spare. It was a little too close for comfort, and that damn scarecrow on the move is seriously freaky. Plus, rock salt and silver didn't do a thing to stop it. That couple is safe, though, and we manage to sneak a little Wi-Fi pulled over on the side of the highway in order to get some research done in the Impala. We likely won't be well received if we try to find a hotel room in Burketsville, so the car is home for tonight. Dean is flipping through John's journal and I use the internet to get what I can. When my cell phone rings, I'm surprised by the unexpected sound. I'm even more surprised to see Sam's name on the caller ID.

I get nervous right away, concerned he might not be safe. "Hey, Sam," I answer not hesitating long enough to let it go to voicemail. Dean sits up straight from his previous reclined position and frowns at me.

"Kenzie," Sam breathes on the other line, almost like it's a relief or even a litany. "Hi."

"Hi. Are you OK?" I ask. I'm happy to hear his voice but I really just want to know that he's safe and that he's not calling for something bad.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good," he assures me. "I just…I wanted to check up on you guys." My heart falls a little at that explanation but I'm not sure why. It's good that he cared enough to call us and make sure the hunt was going well. We failed to call him so…I don't know, though. I guess I just wanted him to say he missed me or something.

 _Stop being stupid._

I force a straight face and put the phone on speaker so that he's talking to Dean as well. "Well, Burketsville is a fun damn town," I tell him, dripping sarcasm intentionally.

"What's going on?" Sam asks, his voice becoming concerned right away. Dean gives him a quick rundown of what's happened since we got here, including our encounter tonight. "Wait, the scarecrow actually climbed off of its cross? It didn't kill the couple, did it?"

"Of course not," Dean answers. "We can cope without you, thanks."

Sam chuckles a little but notes, "So something must be animating the thing. A spirit?" I can't help but appreciate the fact that he's jumped in on the research. Nerdy Sam is the hottest Sam, but it's also just a nice thing to do. He might have run away from us but it's pretty clear he cares.

"No, it's more than a spirit," I tell him. "It's a god."

"Of the pagan variety," Dean chimes in.

Sam asks, "What makes you think that?"

"The annual cycle of the killings, for one," I begin. "And the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman."

Dean gives a humorless laugh and recalls, "Plus, you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple? It was like fattening them up like a Christmas turkey."

"Last meals for a sacrificial victims," Sam muses, catching up now.

I nod even though he can't see me and tell him, "We're thinking it's a ritual sacrifice to appease the pagan god."

"So god possess scarecrow, scarecrow takes sacrifice, and for another year the crops don't wilt," Sam summarizes on the other end. Wherever he is, there are other voices in the background but it sound relatively quiet. "You guys figure out which god you're dealing with? Once you know that, you can figure out how to kill it."

"Yeah we thought about that. We're going to get an appointment with a local professor in the morning," Dean replies. He smirks a little and teases, "You know, since my trust sidekick Geek Boy isn't here." I roll my eyes but smile when Sam laughs on the other end of the call.

After a pause, Sam teases, "You know, Dean, if you're hinting that you need my help just ask." I laugh at the scowl on Dean's face in response.

"I'm not hinting at anything," Dean informs him. He smiles just a little, almost in a sad way, and says, "Actually, I uh…I mean I wanna say that I…"

Sam interrupts and finishes for his brother. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too."

Dean takes the phone from my hand and holds his breath for a second. I have a feeling I know what he's going to say and it makes me happy and nauseous all at once. For once, Dean isn't starting a fight. "Sam, you were right," he says finally. "You've gotta do your own thing and live your own life."

"You're serious?" Sam asks, his voice surprised.

"You've always know what you want and you go after it," Dean continues, his smile remaining. I can't bring myself to mirror the smile even though I'm glad Sam is saying these things. "And you stand up to Dad – you always have. Hell, I wish – " Dean cuts himself off, biting his tongue. He recovers quickly and tells Sam, "I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."

There's a long pause on the other end before Sam admits, "I don't even know what to say."

"Say you'll take care of yourself," Dean requests.

"I will."

"And if you find Dad, give me a call."

"Okay," Sam agrees. "Thanks, Dean. Can you, uh…"

Dean rolls his eyes and gives me a look. "Yeah, I'm gonna go talk a walk so you two can avoid disgusting me further." With that he gets out of the car and I catch a smile on his face as he moves toward the hood, leaning back against the windshield for a look up at the stars.

"You're really OK right?" I check. "Where are you?"

"Still in Cincinnati," he responds. "And yeah, I'm fine. I just missed the only bus until tomorrow." Somehow I don't really feel bad for him but I don't say that out loud. "So…didn't expect Dean to say all that."

I laugh a little and note, "I bet you didn't." There's a silence on both ends. I don't know what to say and he doesn't say anything.

"I plan on coming back after I find Dad, you know," he tells me rushing the words like they're important. "I'll be gone a week to help him and then I'm back on the road with you guys."

"I know that's the plan…but I'm not getting my hopes up," I admit even though it's tough to be honest with him. "And I'm not quitting on this. You understand why I couldn't go with you, right?"

"I do, I know." I can hear his smile through his voice. "I'm sorry for even asking; that was really selfish. I just…I don't like being without you anymore. I miss you, Kenzie."

My heart skips a beat both at the words I've hoped to hear foolishly and the sad, honest tone of his voice when he says it. It might be childish and stupid given our chosen lives but Sam isn't something I can deny.

"I miss you," I tell him honestly, leaning back in the seat. I cover my face with my hand. I'm sad that he's not here and happy that he's on the phone and embarrassed to have any feelings for him at all. None of this is status quo for me; I've never had someone to care for or to miss this way. I'm not totally sure I like it but there's a smile on my face anyway.

There's not much more to say, but we talk for a little while longer. I don't think either of us wants to get off the phone. I'm not sure when I'll talk to him next, even though he promises to call in the morning to see what we've learned from the professor. The moment I end the call I consider calling him back. With all my emotions, the car feels too small.

Dean has his arms behind his head and glances over at me when I climb up onto the hood, leaning against the windshield beside him. There's an easy silence for a moment and then he asks, "You OK?"

"Yeah," I answer honestly, watching the stars twinkle above us. I look up at him and ask, "Why wouldn't I be?"

He just smiles a little and shrugs, so I let it go. After a few minutes, he laughs to himself and asks, "Did I ever tell you about the time Sam decided he wanted a pool and cost us like $500 in hotel bathroom repairs?"

Dean and I stay there, swapping stories, for at least another couple hours judging by the movement in the sky. We laugh until both of us are wiping tears from our eyes, we revel in moments of comfortable silence, and we don't talk about the job. For a little while, we're partners – maybe even more like siblings – enjoying peace and each other's company. There's a sadness that is Sam's absence, but we don't talk about it and I don't dwell on it much. Even a little sad and longing for his arms, I feel like I'm where I belong. I'm supposed to be on this path with this family and I'm willing to see how it all plays out.

 **…** **Morning, Butler County Community College…**

Dr. Franklin Hobbs, a professor of anthropology, was surprised to get our call but offers to fit us in for a visit. He seems intrigued by our question and when we meet the man, he's a bit flustered. I don't know if it's the unusual subject or his personality, but he makes me kind of nervous. I stick closer to Dean than I would normally as we follow Dr. Hobbs through his office and into a small library. He shuts the door behind us.

"It's not everyday I get a question on Pagan ology," he tells us.

Dean shrugs and says, "Call it a weird hobby." There's really no other good way to explain it.

"But you said you were interested in local law?" Dr. Hobbs asks, recalling our phone conversation as he looks across a shelf containing large volumes. "I'm afraid Indiana isn't really known for Pagan worship."

"Well, what if it was imported?" I press. "You know, in the same way the Pilgrims to the east brought their religions over. This area was settled mostly by immigrants, right?"

"Yeah, like that town Burketsville," Dean chimes in, managing to sound casual. "Where would there ancestors likely have come from?"

Dr. Hobbs finds the books he's looking for and carries it to a table where we join him. It's an encyclopedia of paganism, it appears. We've come to the right place for answers. "Northern Europe, I believe," the professor answers. "Scandinavia."

"OK, what can you tell us about those pagan gods?" Dean asks.

Dr. Hobbs starts flipping through the book, using an index to quickly move toward the middle. "Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses."

"Actually, we're looking for information on one in particular," I tell him. We don't have time to hear about hundreds even though I think the subject matter is pretty fascinating. "It would like to live in an orchard."

"A Wood's god," Dr. Hobbs muses, continuing to flip through pages. "Let's see…"

"Wait," Dean says suddenly. He turns the page backward and points to the page. "That. What's that one?" I lean forward for a better look at this specific page and fight the smile from my face. We've found it; the picture is a rendering of a scarecrow in what looks like a field of fruit trees.

"That's not a Wood's god, per se," Dr. Hobbs begins, shaking his head. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes a beat of sweat from his forehead. It's not at all warm in here and I can't help noticing that he's getting a little more antsy. I focus on the task at hand, though.

I read from the page, "The Vanir?"

Dr. Hobbs nods. "The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity. They were believed to keep local settlements from harm. The villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields." He motions to the drawing and continues, "Other villages practiced human sacrifice – usually pairs." My stomach clenches with anticipation at being so close to answers.

"Kind of looks like a scarecrow, doesn't it?" Dean clarifies, also motioning toward the drawing.

"I suppose," Dr. Hobbs allows his a shrug. He pushes his glasses further up onto his nose and starts to skim the page. "This particular Vanir gained its energy from a Great Tree." He gives a short laugh and shakes his head dismissively as he says, "Pagans believed all sorts of things where infused with magic."

 _I'm getting such a weird vibe from this guy_.

Dean takes a breath and shrugs as he asks, "So what would happen if the tree were, say, somehow destroyed? Like if it were set on fire?" Dr. Hobbs looks up at him in surprise and Dean presses, "You think it would kill the god?"

"Son, these are just legends we're discussing," Dr. Hobbs notes, laughing a little and closing the book with a loud thud.

"Well, right, of course," Dean laughs easily. I force a smile when the professor glances over at me and think he buys it. I don't buy him, though. I'm gonna have to tell Dean I think he's up to something when we leave.

Which I want to do now. "Listen thank you very much for you help," I say, extended a hand toward Dr. Hobbs. He shakes it and then Deans.

"I'm glad I could help," he mutters behind us while Dean leads me back toward the door we came through. When he pulls it open, I don't get a long enough look at the Sherriff to realize who it is before he slams the butt of his rifle into Dean's head. There's no time to react; something slams into the back of my skull. I feel the side of my face hit the floor as the darkness as already overcome all my senses.

 **…** **Sometime Later…**

"Mack." I hear a gruff voice calling my name distantly. There's a throbbing at the back of my head and my body feels stiff, fighting against me as I try to find the voice. "Mack."

 _Dean_. The office. Our ambush at the college comes back to me and I force my eyes to open. I see Dean first, kneeling in front of me. He grabs my arm to pull me into a sitting position and I allow him, looking around. We're in some kind of dirt cellar, like the kind used for tornado safety. I have a feeling we aren't down here for our own safety, though. Above us is a wooden witch's door, almost certainly locked from the outside.

"This is crazy!" I hear a voice from above us shout. It's a girl's voice and sounds young enough that I think it's Emily. I get to my feet and move to the bottom of the stairs leading out with Dean, moving quietly. Maybe it's better if they think we're still unconscious. I can make out several pairs of legs through the spaces in the wood where light comes in, but that's it.

"Emily, it's our responsibility to protect the town." That voice definitely belongs to Scotty.

"But Uncle Harley!" Emily protests. "You're the one doing this; you give them directions and send them down to the orchard! How? Why?"

"We've explained that, dear," another voice answers, this time belonging to Aunt Ellen. "The god is angry with us. It's already the seventh night of the cycle; this is our last chance."

I look over at Dean, my mouth going dry. We're the sacrifice. His eyes are wide, realizing the same thing in a panic. There's something of a small scuffle like the group is forcing Emily away from the cellar and then it's quiet about us. "Damn psychos!" Dean shouts up at the door.

"Shit we stepped in it deep this time," I mutter, frustrated and getting anxious. Dean moves up the stairs, slamming his hands into the door. They give a little but a rattle suggests a metal chain on the other side. It's likely useless, but it continues to shove at it. I turn to the cellar, examining the walls and floor in a stupid effort to find another way out of here. These cellars aren't built for multiple access points.

Footsteps approach and then someone is tugging on the chain from above us. I hear frantic breathing and call, "Emily?"

"I don't have the key!" she responds, obviously crying. I'd feel bad for her if we weren't the ones being served up for dinner. "I don't understand what's happening. Are they gonna kill you?"

"Sacrifice us," Dean answers honestly. "Which is, I don't know, classier I guess?"

I come to the bottom of the stairs and ask, "You really didn't know anything about this?"

"About the scarecrow god?" she shrieks. "No! I can't believe this."

"Honey, we're gonna need you to start believing because you have to help us," Dean tells her firmly. "We can destroy the scarecrow but we have to find the tree."

She sniffs and then asks in a calmer voice, "What tree?"

"It'd be really old," I explain. "The locals would treat it with a lot of respect. Almost like it was sacred."

"There is this one apple tree," she says, sounding a little excited. "They say the immigrants brought it over with them. They call it the First Tree." Dean looks back at me and I nod, agreeing with his unspoken thought that it's definitely our tree.

"Is it in the orchard?" I ask.

"Yeah, but I don't know where," she admits.

"Emily." The Sherriff's voice. "Move away from there. It's time." My heart starts to race as the chains begin to move once again. When the door is open, we come face to face with the Sherriff and Scotty, both aiming rifles at us, as well as Ellen and another man who must be Uncle Harley. Emily is there, her face pale and panicked as Harley restrains her.

The Sheriff grabs Dean by the arm and yanks him out of the cellar. Scotty presses his rifle to Dean's back and I notice Ellen approaching with zip ties. I back away, considering trying to swing at him when the Sheriff comes down the stairs for me. "I will shoot you girl," he growls at me. "And then we'd have to sacrifice the only other little girl here. You don't want that, do you?"

 _Emily_. I drop my hands and say nothing as he grabs my arm and shoves me hard, in front of him and toward the stairs. Before I can go up, the Sherriff grabs me again and handcuffs my arms behind my back. I'm pushed up the stairs to join Dean, we're both loaded into the squad car. On the ride to the orchard, the Sherriff plays country music on the radio and sings along loudly. He's happy and carefree; with this sacrifice, they'll get another good, safe year.

 _I'd really like to rip this guys head off._

I can see Dean trying to maneuver his way out of the hold but it's a waste of time. They've taken everything from us, including the knives. I conserve my energy, knowing all need it to fight off the scarecrow.

The entire group except for Emily has come out to the orchard. They're all smiles and high-spirits. Dean and I are taken into the middle of the field, twenty some feet from where the scarecrows sits on his cross. It's still daylight so there's no movement from him now but we have a matter of hours before sundown.

My heart races and I can feel sweat forming on my brow as I'm uncuffed. Immediately the Sherriff tosses me to the base of a tree. They work in teams, Dean at another tree a few feet away from me, using thick rope first to tie our hands behind our back and then to wrap our torsos tightly to the tree. It's a good tie job; I can't move.

"How many people have you killed Sheriff?" I demand, looking into carefree eyes as he finishes a knot. My anger is getting the best of me and I'm tired of these people. "How much blood is on your hands?"

"We don't kill them," the Sheriff answers simply.

"No, but you sure cover up after it," I remind him. "How many cars have you hidden? Clothes have you buried? How many lives have you told?"

The man named Harley comes forward. He gives me a gentle look but not one of guilt or sadness. "Try to understand," he suggest. "It's our responsibility."

"Sacrifice means giving up something for the greater good," Sheriff chimes in, actually smiling at me now as if I'll understand. Since I can't hit him, I do the next best thing and spit directly into his face. He looks shocked but doesn't retaliate, just stands slowly and wipes his face with his sleeve while I glare at him. "The town needs to be saved," he states simply before turning away.

As they start to disappear among the trees, Dean shouts behind them, "I hope your apple pie is freakin' worth it!" When they're gone, we both start struggling against our bindings in earnest. The sun is setting rapidly and who knows how long we'll have after dark. "Tell me you have plain in that big brain of yours."

"You're the leader of the misfits," I remind him, throwing myself forward repeatedly to try and get even an inch or two of space between myself and the ropes. "What's your plan?"

"Don't die," he grumbles, wiggling himself side to side in his own effort to get out of the bindings.

The sky grows dark and I look backward, toward the scarecrow where we passed it. "I can't see it," I groan with the effort to turn my neck around the tree. My view is blocked by other trees "Dean, can you see it?"

Dean leans as much as he can and twists his head around. "No," he growls, renewing his wiggling instead. I'd feel a lot better if I could keep an eye on the scarecrow, maybe figure out where it's coming from. I continue to slam myself forward, feeling a bruise beginning to form along my collarbones and my whole body starting to become exhausted. I slump back and take a breath, glancing over at Dean who hasn't quit yet.

My heart is pounding so hard I'm not sure I'll hear the pagan scarecrow god-thing coming over the sound. Then I do hear a sound; a crunching, like someone moving through an underbrush. It's coming from behind us and Dean looks up at when he hears it, green eyes wide. "C'mon break out!" he shouts at me.

"I've been trying for an hour!" I remind him, trying his method of wiggling. It hasn't done a thing for him, but it might hurt less.

Dean starts cursing as the footsteps grow nearer and now I don't dare look back; I've changed my mind and decided I don't want to see it coming. I'd prefer to believe this will be painless, even as I continue to struggle. I bend my legs at the knees, prepared to give the thing at least a good kick in the balls.

"Guys?" The voice is a whisper at first and I freeze, wondering if I'm hallucinating in my panic. "Kenz? Dean?" The voice is definitely there and there's no doubt in my mind it's Sam.

"Sam!" Dean and I shout at the same time. He appears in between us, confusion and concern all over his face. Dean laughs once and says, "Oh, God, I take back everything I said. I'm so glad you're here."

Sam moves for me first, dropping in front of me on his knees. I'm so damn grateful to see his face – now more than ever – and lead forward, snagging his lips for just a second before he cuts the binding across my chest and then the rest. "How did you get here?" I ask, pulling the ropes off of myself as he runs over to Dean to free his brother.

"I, uh…stole a car," he admits.

"That's my boy," Dean enthuses. "Just keep an eye on that scarecrow. He can come alive any minute now." At that reminder, I move quicker to my feet. Sam has freed Dean but frowns now.

"What scarecrow?" he asks, looking past us. Panic rising again, I hurry toward him and follow his gaze. The cross is empty, the scarecrow's own bindings hanging loose.

Dean approaches and curses, all of us turning in different direction to keep an eye out for the thing. "OK, the Sacred Tree," Dean says. "We need to find it and torch it."

"We can do that in the morning," Sam objects.

"Agreed." I grab both of the shirts and tug as I say, "Let's get the hell out of here before it catches up." We start running, just hoping we're moving quicker than the scarecrow and in the opposite direction. It's not the scarecrow that blocks our paths after only a few steps, but the townspeople – Harley, the Sherriff, Scotty, and Ellen stand in front of us as a means of blocking our way out. With three rifles pointed at us, we're stuck where we stand. Sam pulls me to move behind him more and I feel Dean step closer to my other side. I step forward, though, unwilling to be hidden or protected right now. I'm too damn mad.

"Let them go!" Emily calls, running up from behind them.

"Listen to her," Dean suggests, breathing hard. "You know this isn't right."

"We promise this will all be over soon," Ellen says, feigning a smile so sweet it makes me feel sick. "You just have to let him take you. You have – " Her words are cut off and Emily's scream replaces it, piercing the air just as a scythe wielded by the scarecrow pierces straight through Ellen's throat. Harley, beside her, looks back in horror and we can only watch as the scarecrow grabs him around the neck, dragging them both backward.

I move toward them on instinct but Dean turns into my path and grabs me. "It's too late; we need to get the hell out of here!" He's right, so I turn and we convince a shocked Sherriff and Scotty to run while Dean has to pick up Emily who can't stop screaming all the way back to the road.

The moment we reach the highway, Sam crushes me into his chest. I feel his breath on my head as he buries his face in my hair. Relieved and feeling adrenaline pump hard, I return the embrace. His smell is more welcome now, after his absence, then it's ever been. "I'm so sorry," he breathes, voice full of emotion.

 **…** **Morning…**

Emily is different in the morning. She's…hardened. I can see it in her eyes. Still, she offers us a smile and asks to take us out to the First Tree which she's found the location of, in exchange for a ride to the bus station in Cincinnati when we're done. We agree of course and end up back at the orchard. I wonder if the girl will have some sort of breakdown, being back here, but she seems really OK. Still, I ask, "How are you holding up?"

She offers me a small smile. "Better than I thought I would be. I just want all of this to be over…no one else should die for this town." Her resolve is firm but she doesn't appear to be in shock. I guess she's just figured out the truth; sometimes bad things happen to bad people.

"Scott told me about the gods and the legend last night," Emily continues. "These sacrifices – " She spits the word as if it disgusts her – "have been happening in the village of our ancestors for hundreds of years. This is one of the last places to do it, so we need to end it."

She motions when we arrive at a tree, well hidden toward the middle of the orchard. It's different, wider and somehow stronger looking than all the other apple trees. The trunk has been engraved with various symbols I don't recognize and then even a couple that I do, though I can't place them. Sam and Dean get to work, covering the trunk and branches they can reach as well as the ground around the tree in lighter fluid.

"Can I?" Emily asks when I pull a pack of matches from my pocket. She earned the right after all the people her family killed, right under her nose. Emily takes the pack happily, lights one, and tosses it to the base of the sacred plant. The liquid ignites instantly, bathing us in a warmth heat. Sam moves behind me and pulls against the waistband of my jeans, urging me to lean against him; he's as warm as the fire. With him back, I can't help but feel…better. I try not to focus on how short lived I expect that to be.

"You know the whole town is gonna die, right?" Dean clarifies as the first branch cracks and hits the ground in flames.

Emily blinks and replies simply, "Good."

We leave the tree to burn, unconcerned about the collateral damage through the rest of the orchard. The drive to Cincinnati is easy, though it makes me realize Sam must have left sometime early in afternoon in order to get to us when he did. "What made you come back?" I ask him, frowning up at him from out seats in the back.

"I called your phone to ask about the professor," he answers. "Three times, and then Dean. When neither of you answered, I knew something was wrong." He shrugs and I'm just damn grateful for his instincts.

At the station, it takes Emily less than two minutes to decide she's getting a ticket to Boston. I'm not sure why there and I don't ask; she's had a rough couple of day and can go wherever she'd like. Besides, she turns to wave at us on the bus with a confident and peaceful smile. "You think she's gonna be alright?" Sam ask.

I shrug and answer as best I can. "I hope so. It just bugs me that the rest of the townspeople are getting away with this."

"What happens to the town will have to be punishment enough," Dean notes. He's right; it's not like we could call the cops and try to explain any of this. We'd be the ones to end up in handcuffs or rubber rooms. The town will face the wrath of a pagan god and then have to get along with help from the thing.

 _I hope the whole town fails_.

I take a deep breath and turn to Sam, squeezing his hand inside me. He looks down at me, smile gentle and impassioned all at once. I hate that smile right now. "So…you have a bus to catch?"

"We could drop you off somewhere," Dean offers.

Sam looks between the two of us as his smile grows a little, then he shrugs. "No, I think you guys are stuck with me." My heart skips a beat but I can't help giving him a skeptical look, wondering if he's just screwing with us or talking in temporary terms. Sam laughs at my expression and uses his hold on my hand to yank me toward him.

It's the first time he's kissed me publicly or quite so passionately, his mouth melding into mine as he takes a moment to explore my mouth. I feel a heat build quickly at my core and have to lean into him while he melts me, my legs failing to hold me up. The kiss is over quickly but I feel it _everywhere_. Sam knows it too, I can see it in his eyes. I didn't know there were kisses like that.

Dean laughs at us and asks playfully, "What changed your mind?"

"I didn't," Sam answers as I gather myself and we head for the car. "I still want to find Dad and you're still a pain in the ass." Dean gives him a look that makes me laugh. "But…Jess and Mom are gone. Dad is God knows where." As we reach the Impala, Sam rests his forearms on the top and I lean against the door beside. I'm curious about the rest of his answer and Dean must be too because he waits on the other side.

"You, me, and Kenzie…we're all that's left," Sam muses thoughtfully. He doesn't say it like the thought bothers him. It certainly doesn't bother me. I glance over at Dean who gives me a quick wink. "So." He stands up straighter. "If we're gonna see this thing through, we're gonna do it together."

 _Sounds good to me_.

Dean sniffs and teases, "That was beautiful." He hurries toward Sam with his arms extended and calls out, "Hold me, Sammy." I laugh and get out of their way as Dean all but tackles his brother.

"You should be kissing my ass!" Sam laughs, pushing Dean off of him. "You two were dead meat last night."

"No way," Dean argues. "We had a plan, didn't we Mack?"

"We totally had a plan," I lie, rolling my eyes and knowing Sam knows it's a lie. "We were seconds from getting out."

"We had everything under control." He punches Sam's arm and adds, "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam replies.

I shake my head and tell them, "You're both dumbasses." Laughing, we get into the car. I happily spread out in the back seat, listening to Sam and Dean argue over the radio. Sam's right; the three of us are it. And I wouldn't have it any other way.


	12. 1x12: Faith

Chapter 12

Faith

I always assumed that dying would be some kind of momentous occasion. I figured I'd at least have that whole life-flashing experience. The truth is kind of depressing. When I died, there was nothing at all. Nothing. I heard Dean yelling and then everything went dark quietly; no bright lights or even an opportunity to fight against what was happening. It was like falling asleep. Just…nothing.

Oh, there was pain – don't get me wrong. A hundred thousand volts of electricity shared between me and the scumbag I was aiming at. I knew what would happen when I took the shot, but I knew I had to take the shot. If I'd known that kind of electrocution and a heart attack would hurt so badly, I might have at least hesitated. My bones still ache…well, maybe that's the still dying thing.

Still dying. Because one death full of nothing just isn't enough.

 _Shit_.

My heart's not healing from this, the doctors were clear. I feel like I should be crying or something. This should be hitting me harder, right? I mean, I'm certainly not ready to die. I don't feel ready. Actually I feel kind of pissed off that I'm dying a virgin who's never completed a single bucket list item. I feel guilty, too, about Sam and Dean. And Jim. How am I supposed to tell Jim? What the hell are those boys gonna do without me?

 _Jesus, why is daytime TV so bad?_ You'd think they'd give the dying folk something better to do.

I flip to yet another channel as the door opens. I don't have to wonder if Sam and Dean heard the prognosis when I look up at see their faces. If that's not enough to break my heart, nothing is. I swallow and look away from them. It seems unfair that I should have to contend with all those sad eyes right now. "You ever actually watch daytime TV?" I ask them. "It's terrible."

Dean leans against the ledge under the windows while Sam sits down in the chair beside my bed. Neither of them is looking at me but Dean manages, "We talked to your doctor."

"That fabric soft teddy bear?" I continue, desperate to _not_ have this conversation. "Oh, I'll hunt that bitch down."

"Kenzie." Sam's voice is firm and so is his gaze.

I take a breath. "Yeah. Alright." I turn off the TV and let the remote fall. I try to sigh but find that it's terrifically painful to day anything even remotely excessive. My ribs feels like they're on fire. "Looks like you guys are leaving town without me." I manage to keep my tone positive while saying it and I'm kind of proud of it. Still, Sam and Dean look at me like I've just smacked them.

"What are you talking about?" Sam demands. "I'm not leaving you here." His eyes are wide and wet and almost panicked. No, no. He's gotta stay far away from the ledge or this will kill me much sooner.

"Hey, you take care of each other," I snap at them, the thought occurring to me suddenly. "If you split up, I'll haunt you both I swear."

Sam frowns at me. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny," Dean allows. Sam shoots him a death glare and runs a hand through his hair. He's shaking so I reach out and take his hand.

"Sam, what do you want me to say?" I ask. "It's a dangerous gig and I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story."

Dean shakes his head and comes closer now. "Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options." Shit, him too?

I shake my head and demand, "What options? Burial or cremation?" They both pale but I don't care. They're going to need to deal with this and quickly, based on what the doctor's sad. I'm not dying without knowing that they'll be alright and this response is not alright. "I know it's not easy…but I'm gonna die. And you can't stop me."

At that, Sam jumps up so quickly that his chair topples over backward behind him. He glares at me and challenges, "Watch me," before marching out of the room. I close my eyes and try my best to take a deep, calming breath.

 _Damn Winchesters_.

 **…** **2 Nights Later…**

I stay in the hospital for as long as I possibly can, really, and it's a miracle that I lasted a full two nights. I'll go crazy in there any longer, and the fact that I can't be with Sam and Dean most of the day is the worst part. Inside that damn hospital room, I have nothing to distract me from thoughts of dying. I can't just sit there and think about it anymore.

My doctor makes a huge fuss about be leaving and starts mentioning calling my parents again – he's not thrilled no parent has shown up for the dying eighteen year old as it is. I'm worried he'll call the cops if I sign myself out AMA so when the unit gets dark and quiet after midnight, I make my move.

Everything is about a thousand times more tiring than it used to be and I feel sore everywhere like that time I had a flu. Just getting dressed makes me kind of out of breath but it's nothing compared to sneaking out of the hospital from the eighth floor. I don't know who owns the little gray Honda I jack but they needed a new car anyone and they really should keep the next one cleaner. I ditch it at the far end of the motel parking lot and head for room five – the only room with the lights still on inside.

There's a delay after I know and I catch the curtains moving a bit while the guys make sure I'm not a cop or monster. The door flies open and Dean's arm reaches out, yanking me inside as he demands, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I checked myself out," I answer. I shrug and admit, "Well, I snuck myself out."

"Are you crazy?" Sam demands. I sit down hard on the mattress, taking a breath that I feel rattle around in my chest.

"I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the doctors aren't even hot and the food is hell," I inform him simply. Sam shakes his head at me and sits beside me, tucking a loose curl back behind my ear.

Dean stands in front of me, taking his in-charge stance and crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, this whole 'I laugh in the face of death' thing is crap," he jabs. "I can see right through it."

I did not escape a hospital to talk about my feeling. "Yeah, whatever." I look at the two of them and frown; their usually glamourous hair is messy and they have bags under their eyes. The room is cluttered with cheap fast food wrappers and beer bottles. "Have you two even slept? You look worse than I do."

"We've been scouring the internet non-stop," Sam admits. "Calling every contact in dad's journal."

"For what?"

Dean frowns at me again as he sits and responds, "For what will help you."

I roll my eyes but Sam ignores me, turning his body toward me and grabbing one of my hands tightly. "One of Dad's friends, Joshua, called us back," he informs me. His eyes are bright now…hopeful. That can't be good. "He told us about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist."

"A heart specialist?" I clarify.

"A not-dying specialist," Dean answers. His voice and gaze are firm but he shifts around uncomfortably like this plan might not be totally Kosher. I narrow my eyes at them, anxious and curious all at once.

"This is ridiculous," I inform them. "We should be eating the best food we can find, hitting up a strip club, and spending money. I have things to do before I die, and traveling to a long shot in Nebraska is not one of them."

"Fine." Sam stands abruptly and grabs his phone, holding it out to me. "Then call Jim. If you're really ready for this, call Jim and tell him you're dying."

"Dying without a fight," Dean corrects, his eyes piercing. I feel their words and that idea like an icy stab to the gut. I look away from the phone, not even prepared to contemplate the idea of telling Jim about this. It'll break him and I don't want to be responsible for that.

I give them my most petulant stare and demand, "You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you?"

"We're not gonna let you die, period," Dean announces.

Sam nods and looks down at me confidently. "We're going."

I shake my head but say nothing else. Fortunately it's Dean who jumps in to lift my mood with promises of getting me lots of cheap, greasy food. With my order and a fraudulent credit card in hand he leaves Sam and I alone. "I'm glad you're here," Sam informs me softly, smiling at me. "Even if you are crazy."

"Me, too," I tell him honestly. "And you're glad _because_ I'm crazy." He laughs and comes back to the bed, suddenly scooping me up in his arms. I don't resist or panic, just lean into him and enjoy the warmth. Sam sits down at the head of bed, holding me against him in his lap, and swings his feet up onto the bed. He settles me between his legs so that my back is against his torso and pulls the blankets up over us before turning on the television.

I'm happy there, relaxed, but I feel Sam take a deep, shaky breath. He's struggling and I know that. If I didn't, we wouldn't be going to Nebraska in the morning that's for damn sure. I don't know how to comfort him, sitting with someone who is actively dying, but I tug his arms so that they're wrapped around me and snuggle in closer to him. Sam rests his head on top of mine, keeping a hold on me.

I'm not ready. I may not be crazy about trying a longshot specialist in Nebraska to cure something doctors have already said is useless, but I'm not ready to go. There's so much left for me to do and see. I've never been on a beach, I've never been intimate…hell, I've never even had a legal beer!

I need to finish out this mission with Dean. He and I are partners, a real team. Without me, I worry that he'll falter on this mission and Dean has to believe in himself. He's so good and so capable…and all he knows is guilt from Sam and shame from his Dad. Dean's become something of a brother to me, but more than that too. He's kept me safe and sane and smiling for the last few months and the idea of leaving him behind makes me feel sick.

I want to follow this path Sam and I have started. He makes me feel special and happy and somehow – despite the cliché that makes me want to gag – whole. Sam doesn't care about anything halfway and I hate to think how intensely he's going to feel yet another loss. There's so much than I think might be left for _us_ and I don't want either of us to miss it, to feel regret.

There's something that tells me I've barely taken more than a couple steps on my personal journal. I don't even know what I _am_. To stop now, to consider that this is the stopping point, just seems entirely incomplete and even empty. It would seem that after all this, I'm supposed to have some bigger purpose. Is it possible that the purpose is to die, quiet and insignificant, from a freak accident? Is this is, a silly end to so much effort?

And that's really the scariest part – the end. I know that if I talked to Jim, he'd try to make me feel better about that part and it might make him feel better. He believes in God, in Heaven, in an afterlife. I've never been quite so sure and faced with meeting it, I'm nervous. What if there's nothing at all? I mean, that's what I found when I was dead for four minutes. Isn't that long enough to at least see a white light? Maybe I wasn't _dead_ , dead – maybe we're supposed to find a fix?

Even with all my guilt about leaving and all my passions for wanting to continue life, it's really that fear and uncertainly that spurring me on here. As much as I'd like to just roll over and go to sleep forever because I am so, so exhausted, I'm going to push on to Nebraska with a least some hope. I'm just too scared for anything else at the moment. Dean was right about that.

Sam shifts slightly, my head shifting back into his shoulder with my face falling against his chest so that I can listen to his healthy heart beat steadily. I'm drawn out of my thoughts by his warmth and his smell…God, that wonderful smell. I turn my head and press my lips to his neck, lingering. I don't want to lose any of this.

 _I'm not ready_.

 **…** **3 Days Later, Nebraska…**

"Hey." Dean's gravelly, soothing voice calls me from an oddly deep, restless nap. I smell him before I open my eyes, spice and leather. The car grumbles under us, no longer on smooth highway but beginning to bounce us around a bit. "Mack, we're here," Dean says again, speaking softly as I feel his head rest on top of mine just for a moment.

I force my eyes open finally, daring a peek around at this place they've brought me. I'm in the back seat of the Impala. My legs are curled up beside me on the seat and I'm resting against Dean with my head on his shoulder. I don't remember him coming back here to let me lean on him, but he's much more comfortable than trying to breathe while laying down flat. I push myself up right and turn to look through the window as Sam parks the car.

 _Where the hell are we?_

It looks like they're brought me to a campground or tailgate or something. I see a huge white tent in the middle of the property, surrounded by parked cars and a big crowd of people who are all headed inside. There's a large home on the other end of the property as well. Nothing about this appears to be a doctor's office or a hospital but when the guys start to climb out of the car, I follow suit.

The damn Impala's doors are really heavy and takes more effort than I want to do admit to climb out. Everything has started requiring more and more effort as each day goes on. As I find my footing, I stumble just a bit. Sam overreacts as he's been doing constantly and grabs me as if he's afraid this will be the moment when I drop dead. "I got it," I assure him, snapping more than I mean to but not apologizing. I'm not dead yet and I'm not keen on being treated that way.

I follow the guys slowly through the makeshift parking lot and toward the tent. My feet stop instantly when I catch sight of a sign.

The Church of Roy Le Grange: Faith Healer

"You two are lying bastards!" I exclaim, ignoring the stares from people around us. "I thought you said we were going to a doctor."

"I believe we said specialist," Sam corrects, taking my arm in his hand and tugging me along. He's not given me the option to run but I drag my feet, entirely skeptical and a little pissed off. I came all this way for bullshit. "Look, this guy's supposed to be the real deal."

I scoff at him. "I cannot believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent."

An older woman walking in front of us stops so suddenly that it forces us to do the same. She turns toward me, scowling deeply as she announces, "Reverend Le Grange is a great man."

"Yeah, that's nice – bite me." I'm not in the mood to be nice and it's kind of satisfying to see her appalled expression for before she turns and walks away.

"Mack, I'm just as skeptical as you are," Dean admits softly as we keep walking. "It's truly a long shot but it's out only shot and we gotta take it."

I shake my head at him as we pass a man who is standing with a State Trooper and arguing. The man raises his voice to shout to the cop and the crowd, "This man is a fraud. He's milking all these people out of their hard earned money."

"This is a place of worship," the Trooper informs him, using it as an excuse to begin pulling him away from the tent.

"I take it he's not part of the flock," I mumble, totally sour now. Even Jim doesn't buy into this scam healers.

"When people see something they can't explain, there's controversy," Sam notes.

I yank my arm away from him just before the tent, not allowing him to drag me inside just yet. His optimism about this is absurd and I find it hard to believe. "Come on, Sam," I press. "A faith healer?"

Sam throws his hands up in frustration. "Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Kenzie."

"You know what I have faith in? Reality – knowing what's really going on."

"How can you be a skeptic?" he asks me. "I mean, with the things we see every day?"

I shake my head and argue, "Exactly; we see them. We know they're real."

"Come on, Mack," Dean breathes, looking up at the tent in front of us. "Cut the kid a break. He's gotta believe in something."

"I do believe!" Sam insists emphatically. "We know the evil is out there. How can we not believe the good might be there, too?"

"You're kidding me, right?" I demand. What has happened to these two? Maybe it's true that desperate times call for desperate measures but this just seems illogical. "We've seen first-hand what evil does to good people."

"Maybe God works in mysterious ways," an unfamiliar woman's voice suggests from behind me. I turn, surprised, to find a young woman – blonde, slight, pretty – smiling gently at me instead of giving me the business like the old hag did.

Dean elbows me aside, making me fall into Sam's arms, and steps forward, giving her that charming once over of his as he suggests, "Maybe he does. I think you just turned me around on the subject."

"Yeah, I'm sure," she laughs.

"I'm Dean," he says, holding out a hand. "This is Sam and Kenzie."

"Leila." She shakes his hand and looks between me and Dean, her smile still present though she seems a little confused. "If you're not a believer…then why are you here?"

"Apparenlty my brother here is going to believe enough for all of us," Dean tells her. Sam puts on his bitch face but Dean ignores it, still smiling like a fool at Leila.

Another woman appears beside Leila, wrapping an around her shoulders. She's old enough to be her mother and may very well be judging by her tone when she says, "Come on, dear. It's about to start."

Leila flashes us all a polite smile before she turns and enters the tent with her mom. Dean watches her go, his expression hungry, and notes, "I bet you she can work in mysterious ways."

I laugh at him and roll my eyes while Sam takes my hand and starts to pull me inside as someone calls, "Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated." A man is standing on the stage, probably Roy himself. He's older and somewhat heavier, though built much like most of the southern men in their sixties I've ever met. He's wearing thick black sunglasses and looking upward too far to be looking naturally out at the crowd. It strikes me then that he's blind.

 _Of course; only adds to the gimmick_.

"We're staring in a just a moment," Roy calls to the crowd, everyone finding seats down in chairs arranged in rows on either sides of an aisle. There are at least two hundred seats and still people finding standing-room only space on the outer edges. With the heat and crowd in the tent, I find myself quickly becoming dizzy so I'm grateful when Dean motions toward three seats in one of the rows furthest back.

"No, come on," Sam argues, stopping Dean and pulling me against his side. "We're sitting up front."

"What? Why?"

Sam ignores me and urges, "Come on." He drags me to the third row from the stage and pulls me behind him into the row where I end up sitting between he and Dean who is on the aisle seat. I take a wheezy breathe as we finally sit and Sam, "Are you alright?"

"This is ridiculous," I manage. "I'm good! Leave me alone." I don't care if it's mean, I'm hot and annoyed and wasting what time I have left.

"Welcome all faith, true believers," Roy is saying as the last stragglers are coming in and finding seats. A hush starts to fall over the crowd as he begins, "Each morning, my wife Sue Ann brings me the news. Never seems good, does it?"

"No," the crowd responds. I roll my eyes.

Roy shakes his head sadly and notes, "It seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act." I can't help a smirk when I wonder what Roy would think about what we do. The crowd murmurs its agreement and distaste. Roy raises a finger. "But I say to you, God is watching."

That earns him a light applause and rousing response from the sheep.

Encouraged, Roy continues, "God rewards the good and He punishes the corrupt!" More cheers, people nodding along as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me and chooses who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts."

While the sentiment earns shouts of "Amen" from the crowd, Dean lowers his head and quips, "Yeah, and their wallets."

I start to snicker but stop immediately when Roy turns toward us and asks, "You think so, young man?" Dean pales since it's pretty obvious who Roy is talking to and everyone else turns to stare at us now, too. Sam gives him a death stare.

"Sorry," Dean mumbles.

"No, don't be," Roy says earnestly, waving it off. "Just watch what you say around a blind me. We've got real sharp ears." The crowd laughs softly and I'm glad we're forgiven until Roy asks him, "What brings you here, son?"

My throat dries and I throw my elbow into Dean's ribs, demanding silently that he keep his damn mouth shut. Dean opens and closes his mouth a couple times, glancing and me and then at Sam. Finally, he looks at me with sincere green eyes as he answers, "My sister. She's, uh…she's really sick."

"Ass," I whisper to him.

"What's your name, sister?"

I swallow and send a silent prayer up that I can just die right now. "Mackenzie."

"Mackenzie," Roy repeats. "I want you to come up here with me, Mackenzie." My stomach plummets as the crowd starts to clap and I feel Sam nudge my side encouragingly. The last thing I want is to stand in front of a crowd…and when I catch sight of Leila, the last thing I want changes into being the person who is healed today.

 _If anyone is worthy it's certainly not me_.

"No, it's OK," I answer, sinking down further into the seat in an effort to hide…as if you need to hide from a blind guy.

"What are you doing?" Sam whispers harshly, trying to push me from the chair gently.

"You've come here to be healed, haven't you?" Roy calls.

I swallow and admit, "Well, yeah, but…maybe you should just pick someone else."

Roy chuckles. "I didn't pick you my dear. The Lord did."

"Get up there!" Dean demands, standing so that he can physically yank me out of the chair. When he pushes me into the aisle, the crowd starts to clap in earnest and I'm trapped. I'm too sick to run out of his place – and the guys would just drag me back anyway. I don't have much of a choice.

"That's it, come on," Roy encourages as I make my way slowly up the three steps to the stage. I stand several feet from him but Roy holds a hand out for me and I feel too bad about ignoring it. He tugs me closer to him gently and asks softly, "Are you ready?"

I take a breath. "Yeah, no disrespect but…I'm not exactly a believer."

Roy smiles. "You will be, dear. You will be." He releases my hand and puts both of his out in front of him, his hands palm up like he's waiting for something to be dropped into this. The crowd falls silent as Roy says, "Pray with me friends." I look out at the people before us and find that only Dean is looking up. Everyone else – Sam included – has their heads bowed in silent prayer. My heart tugs at the sight of Sam, the intense look on his face. He really wants this to work…and so I do.

"Alright now," Roy breathes suddenly, almost talking to himself. I look back at him and find that he's almost vibrating and appears totally lost in thought. The air grows thicker around me, probably because I'm too weak for all this standing. Still, I can't help but feel…strange. "Alright now," Roy repeats as he starts to extend a hand slowly toward me. I tense completely as his palm aims for my forehead.

I have no expectations, no idea what to expect, so when Roy's hand touches me I'm totally unprepared for the sensations that bring me straight down to my knees. There's a pressure all around me, but not in a bad way. Something grips tight inside my chest and a chill starts to build from the inside. The room spins and swirls, Roy hazy above me as he hand remains firmly against me. Everything grows darker slowly, the chill moving deeper inside me. I can't move and I can barely breathe…but I can see a little. And I'm certain that I see…something.

 _Who is that – that man in a suit? Wait, not a man…what – "_

Roy's hand is gone suddenly and then everything else is gone. There's a heavy darkness that falls on me but I feel myself hit the floor on my back and can hear the cheers and voices all around me, though distant. "Kenzie!" Sam's voice shouts, closer. I open my eyes as he and Dean appear above me. I can hear my heart thudding for the first time in days, feel the air moving cleanly in and out of my lungs. "Say something!" Sam demands.

What is there to say? I feel healed…and terribly wrong.

 **…** **Next Morning; Omaha County Hospital…**

"So you really feel OK?" Dean asks. It's at least the hundredth time that one of them has asked me that since left Roy's service yesterday. This morning I had to insist that we get to a hospital and get every heart test they have; I might feel better but I need proof.

"I feel fine," I tell them yet again.

Before they can ask another hundred times, the door to the exam room opens and a doctor comes in. "Well, according to your rests, there's nothing wrong with your heart." She shakes her head and notes, "No sign there ever was."

I just blink. It's not possible.

"Not that someone your age should be having heart problems," the doctor continues. Her face falls a bit and she adds, "Still, it's strange, but it does happen."

I frown at her and ask, "What do you mean, strange?"

"Well, just yesterday a young woman a lot like you – twenty two, athletic – came in. Out of nowhere, heart attack." I feel the world shake around me a little as the brevity of her words and their potential sink it.

That feels like coincidence and I don't believe in coincidence any more than I believe in faith healers.

"Thanks, Doc," Dean says as the doctor leaves. When she's gone, he turns to face me. He's definitely concerned and mumbles, "That's odd."

"Maybe it's coincidence," Sam offers immediately, raising his eyebrows and trying to appear and sound optimistic…trying too hard. "People's hearts give up all the time."

I give him a flat, dead-panned look and it's Dean who argues, "No, they don't."

Sam glares at him but continues, "Look guys, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on?"

"Because I cannot shake this feeling, that's why," I answer, jumping down from the exam table and grabbing my jacket. I'm uncomfortable to the point where I can barely sit still and I hate it.

"What feeling?" Dean asks, concerned. I take a breath, realizing I probably should have admitted this to them last night.

"When I was healed, I just…I felt wrong." I shake my head, remembering all of it clearly. "I felt cold and for a second, I saw someone. I saw this old man. I'm telling you it was a spirit or something."

Dean looks worried but Sam comes forward and touches my arm gently. "Kenzie, if there was something there, I think I would have seen it too," he notes. "I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately."

 _He doesn't get it. I just know._

"Well, excuse me psychic wonder," Dean quips. "But you just need a little faith on this one. Kenzie's been hunting long enough that we trust her instincts on this."

Sam immediately falters, glancing down at me guiltily. "Yeah, you're right," he allows with a not. "So what do you want to do?" he asks me. Dean looks at me for direction on this one as well and I take a breath, not getting the enjoyment out of being able to do that again that I should.

"Sam, why do you go check into that heart attack chick from yesterday?" I suggest. "Dean…let's go visit the reverend." The guys agree and I do think it's a good plan when Dean and I leave Sam to snoop around the hospital, heading back to the Le Grange home in the Impala. I'm focused and I do want to talk to the reverend…but I also want to talk to Dean. "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

I swallow. I've worked out how to have this conversation with him – with the only person in the whole world I can have this conversation with – a hundred times over the last week, but I'm still anxious. Dean could go either way here. I could find support or some serious teasing. I take a breath and take a chance. "What's at the top of your bucket list?"

Dean smiles at the question. "Sky diving," he answers. "There are these caves in Borneo that just plummet for miles and miles, totally blind, straight down into the ground. You can parachute off the ledge. That's gonna be one hell of a rush."

"And you don't get enough rush with this job?" I tease.

Dean laughs and admits, "Never." He's smiling and relaxed, more than he's been in a little while. I hope that's a good vantage for me.

"Do you, uh…do you have anything on your list that's like, you know, like a milestone kind of thing?" Dean frowns over at me, confused. "You know, the stuff that everybody does. Those things you're _supposed_ to do before you die?"

"Like, what, get married and have a family?" He scoffs at me. "I don't think so."

I swallow hard, my throat already dry with the anxiety building inside me that this conversation. I could throw up. This is harder than fighting monsters. "I, uh…I kind of meant something before either of those things."

Dean glances at me again, still frowning. I see it click with him and his eyebrows go up and he breathes, "Oh. Oh. Well, I've already checked that off – and all the wonderful things that come along with it," he adds playfully, smirking. He looks over at me cautiously and I try not to make eye contact with him, staring intentionally through the windshield. "I'm guessing you still have that particular item on your list?"

"I didn't really think much about it until time was ticking, you know?" I admit.

"No, I've been thinking about nothing but that since I was thirteen," he responds. I laugh easily thought I roll my eyes at him and feel grateful; I needed that break in the tension that apparently only I'm feeling. "So?"

I look over at him now. "So what?"

"So, I know that you didn't bring this up just so that you could show me your v-card," he observes wisely. He looks at me, eyebrows raised, and presses, "So?" I have a feeling that he knows but I know as well that I might as well spit it out. Dean's going to make me anyway. I sigh and turn toward him, gathering my determination. Without this talk, I'll never have the courage to get that damned item off of my must-do list.

"When you're hunting, experience is everything," I begin. I don't know any other way to have this conversation and I do know how stupid that is. "A new partner is a terrible thing especially if they have no idea what they're doing. It's guaranteed to be bad, you know?" Dean has a small smile on his face like he does know.

He shakes his head a little. "You know, experience isn't really _everything_. Yeah, at first a new partner is a little awkward. But you, uh, you learn each other, get to know each other. And, uh…well, some things really are just natural. They come naturally." Dean looks over at me, green eyes clear and pointed, and adds, "They come naturally even without any experience at all. Trust me."

I look away, thoughtful about it. Dean is quiet for a moment but then he asks, "Never? Seriously?

"Shut up," I snap, reaching over and punching him soundly in the arm. Dean laughs and I drown him out with the radio for the rest of the ride to the Le Grange estate. He's only teasing to make me feel less tense about it, and I appreciate that.

It's not going to work, though. When considering the things I didn't want to leave the world without doing, I'm not ashamed to admit that sex topped the list. I'm human. And, really, I have Sam. He's beautiful, tall and strong, smart and a good person. I feel like any girl would be hard-pressed to find a better first option for a "hunting partner". Lately there's been a lot of kissing and touching and a passion I've never known so I'm relatively sure Sam isn't going to turn me down…but it's impossible to be sure it won't suck.

I'm given a reprieve from thinking about it any further when we arrive at our destination, Dean easily finding a parking spot out front of the large house now that the services are over. Sue Ann greets us at the door and seems surprised but quickly invites us inside when we ask to speak with Roy. He meets us happily as well and they lead us toward the office. Roy asks how I'm doing.

"I feel great," I answer, mostly honest if we're just talking about my physical state. "Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened."

"A miracle is what happened," Sue Ann announces. She turns to give Roy a fond smile when she says, "Miracles come so often around Roy." He smiles as well and finds a chair by memory, motioning for Dean and me to sit on the couch in front of him. Sue Ann remains standing and leans against the desk beside her husband.

"When did those miracles start?" Dean asks casually.

Roy takes a breath. "I work up one morning, stone blind. Doctor's figured out I had cancer, told me that I had maybe a month. So…we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann to just keep on praying." He pauses as if the memory is tough before telling us, "I went into a coma. The doctor's said I wouldn't take up, but I did. And the cancer was gone." Roy reaches up and removes his sunglasses, looking directly at Dean and I with eyes that milky white, no iris or pupil at all. "If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I ever had it."

"And suddenly…you can heal people?" Dean asks.

"I discovered it afterwards, yes," he answers. "God has blessed me in many ways.

"His flock swelled overnight," Sue Ann chimes in proudly. "And this is just the beginning."

Dean nods, signaling to me that he doesn't need to ask anymore questions. Of course, we're going to snoop around but the official interrogation is done. I'm not done, though. I slide forward in my chair, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning closer to Roy. He leans toward me as well, almost like he can sense the movement. "Can I ask you one last question?" I ask, trying not to cross a line. I assume he can un-heal me, too.

"Of course you can." Something in Roy's smile tells me that he knows what I'm going to ask next.

"Why? Why me?" I ask. "Out of all the sick people there yesterday…why save me?" It's the one thing that's truly been eating at me, even more than the spirit or the creepy vibes I got during the healing. I need to know what made Roy believe that I was worth it.

"It's like I said before my dear," he begins. "The Lord guides me. I looked into your heart and you just…you stood out, from all the rest."

I swallow. "What did you see in my heart?"

"Someone with a purpose." He almost frowns a little when he adds, "A very important one. A job to do. And it isn't finished."

I blink and sit up straighter, unsure how to take that. I guess it's more to the point than I expect. Dean claps a hand onto my shoulder and says firmly, "You're not wrong." After that we stand, thanking them both again and taking our leave. We start down the stairs from the porch, Sue Ann standing behind us to see us off, as Leila and her mom reach the bottom of the stairs.

Leila smiles up at us pleasantly. "Kenzie, Dean," she recalls. She looks at me and asks earnestly. "How are you feeling?"

I swallow, nauseous just at the sight of her. "Hey. Um, I feel good. Cured, I guess."

"What are you doing here?" Dean asks.

"You know my mom," she murmurs, sounding kind of exasperated. "She wanted to talk to the reverend."

Sue Ann calls from behind us, "Leila." Leila's mom swoops in suddenly, taking Leila by the arm and pulling her up the stairs toward Sue Ann. "Mrs. Rork I'm sorry but Roy's resting. He won't be seeing anyone right now."

"Sue Ann, please," Mrs. Rork insists, shamelessly begging and not in the nice way. "This is our sixth time. He's got to see us." I look away from the scene, hating myself for taking Leila's opportunity to be healed.

"Roy is aware of Leila's situation," Sue Ann says, calmly. "And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rork."

I scoff softly, bile building in my throat at the whole thing. Dean must sense this because he wraps an arm around my shoulder and suggest, "Come on."

I start to walk off the steps with him but from behind us Mrs. Rork calls, "You!" Even though I know it's a bad idea, I stop and look back to her. "Why are you even still here? You've got want you wanted."

"Mom!" Leila says, her face appalled. "Stop.

"No, Leila this is too much," she presses, voices cracking as the woman begins to cry. "We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you – strangers who don't even believe!" She looks back to me and admits, "I just can't pray any harder."

Dean keeps his hold on me – the only thing holding me back from throwing up or crying or screaming or something – and asks softly, "Leila…what's wrong?"

"I have this thing," she begins. "It's a brain tumor. It's inoperable and in six months, the doctor's say…"

I look away, feeling my stomach churn. Leila is good. I can almost guarantee she's never told a major lie, fired a gun, or used a weapon. She's not a hunter, she's a good, decent person and she actually has faith in God. And she's dying. "I'm sorry," I manage to spit out.

"It's OK," she responds, still smiling that damn smile.

"No, it isn't," her mother disagrees, all but sobbing now. "Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?"

Her words hit me like a smack in the face because the truth is…I don't. Dean intervenes then and nods to Leila before turning me around, hugging me to his side while we walk back toward the car. He doesn't say anything to try to comfort me or make this better and I'm grateful because he can't; this is not OK and it's not going to be.

 _I don't deserve to live more than anyone_.

 **…** **Hotel…**

Dean and I make the entire ride back in silence. He even lets me control the radio. It gives me time to stop focusing so much on my guilt and get determined again. We need to figure out exactly how Roy is doing this. If I'm absolutely certain about one thing, it's that he is not performing miracles.

I'm grateful that Sam is already at the hotel when we get there because I really need to get right to work. "What did you find out?" I ask before greeting him.

"I'm sorry," Sam breathes, standing up from where he was sitting at the table.

I frown at him and ask, "Sorry about what?"

"Mary Hall died at 4:17," Sam tells me.

Dean curses behind me as it clicks and I clarify, "The exact time I was healed?" Sam nods solemnly and I look away from him, turning and facing the window out of the hotel room now. Behind me, Sam continues on.

"So, I put a list together of everyone Roy's healed," he tells us. "Six people over the past year. I cross-checked them with local obits."

"Let me guess," Dean says. "Every time someone was healed, someone else died."

Sam adds, "And each time the victim died of the same symptom Le Grange was healing at the time." I frown and look at back at them; that's definitely weird.

"Someone healed of chance and someone else dies of cancer?" Dean asks, also frowning. "Le Grange is actually trading one life for another."

The reality sinks in then and I sit down hard on the creaky mattress behind me. "Mary Hall…she died to save me."

"Kenzie, she probably would have died anyway and someone else would have been killed," Sam notes. He's likely right but that doesn't make me feel any better.

"Hey." Dean's authoritative tone makes me look up. I'm surprised to find that he looks kind of sad. "We never should have brought you here, but we were just trying to save your life. I know that in your head…it only feels like someone is dead because of you. But we didn't know."

I shake my head a little. "No, I know you didn't. You wouldn't do this is on purpose." I take a breath to steady myself and stand up. "And I'd do the same thing for either of you if it came down to it. Let's just put an end to this."

"Good girl," Dean enthuses with a firm nod.

"OK but it doesn't make a lot of sense," Sam notes, sitting back down at the table in front of his laptop. "I don't understand how Roy is doing. How's he trading a life for a life?"

"Oh, he's not doing it," I announce confidently. "Something else is doing it for him."

I watch Sam and Dean exchange glances as I move for their dad's journal, flipping through and looking for something specific. "What do you mean?" Sam asks.

"The man I saw on stage," I explain, remember that man much more vividly than I want to. "I didn't want to believe it then but deep down, I knew it."

"You know what?" Dean demands. "What are you talking about?"

"There's only one thing that can give and take life like that." I find the page and hand the journal over to Sam when I tell them, "We're dealing with a reaper."

Dean scoffs. "You really think it's the Grim Reaper? Like Angel of Death, the Collector of Souls, the whole deal?"

"No, no, no," Sam corrects, catching on and putting the journal down for an internet search. "Not _the_ reaper, a reaper. There's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth. They go by a hundred different names."

Dean is still frowning. "But you said you say in a dude in a suit?"

"And what you think he should be rocking the whole black robe thing?" I ask. Dean raises his eyebrows and does that side-to-side nod of his when he's considering something. I know I'm right on this.

"Get this," Sam says enthusiastically. "Reapers stop time. And you can only see them when they're coming at you."

"Which is why I could see him and you guys couldn't," I surmise. "There's really nothing else that this could be. The question is how Roy's controlling the damn thing."

Dean slaps his hand down on the table and says, "That cross!"

"What?" Sam asks, needing to move the laptop before Dean sweeps it off the table as he looks for something specific among the piles of books and paperwork.

"There was this cross. I noticed it in the tent and I knew I'd seen it before." Dean finds what he's looking for, flips a few pages, and then turns to display it. "Here."

"Tarot?" I ask, reaching for the book to read.

"It makes sense," Sam muses.

I nod and agree, "Well, yeah, tarot dates back to the early Christian's when some priests were still using black magic. A few of them were into the dark stuff – necromancy, how to push death away, how to cause it."

"So we think Roy's using black magic to bind a reaper?" Sam shakes his head, his expression summing up how I feel about it.

 _Roy is one sick puppy._

"If he is, he's riding the whirlwind here," Dean notes. "That's like putting a dog leash on a great white."

I slam the book shut and move for the duffel bag instead as I say, "OK. Then we stop Roy."

"How?" Sam asks.

"You know how," Dean answers, joining me. I lift up my pistol and slam the cartridge in to drive the point home. No one else going to die while we're able to stop it.

Sam jumps up from the table and comes over, snatching the gun out of Dean's hand. "What are you two talk about? We can't kill Roy."

"Sammy, the guy is playing God," Dean notes. "He's deciding who lives and who dies."

"That's a monster in my books," I chime in.

"No! We are not killing a human being," Sam argues, looking at both of us like we've totally lost it. "We do that and we're not better than he is."

 _Shit_.

He's not wrong. I drop the pistol back onto the bed, taking his advice this time. "OK, fine," Dean allows. "So, we can't kill Roy. We can't kill death. Any bright ideas college boy?"

Sam rolls his eyes but does offer an idea. "If Roy's using some kind of black spell on the reaper, we have to figure out what it is and how to break it."

"Sounds like we're headed back to services tomorrow."

 **…** **Le Grange Church…**

Roy's holding a service the next morning, and we're there, too. As soon as we get out of the car, it's time to work. "If Roy's using a spell, there's probably a spell book," I note.

"Right. You two see if you can find it," Dean says, motioning toward the house beside the tent. If there's a service beginning, then Roy and Sue Ann shouldn't be inside. "And hurry up because services start in 15 minutes. I'll see if I can stall Roy."

We head through the parking lot toward our destinations. The same protestor from yesterday is there, shouting, "Le Grange is a fraud! He's no healer."

"Amen brother," Dean says, patting his shoulder.

"Keep up the good work," I tell him.

He looks shocked but thanks up and yells even louder as we pass him. Sam and I leave Dean at the church-tent and head toward the house. No one is around as everyone's trying to get a seat so we head up onto the porch. There are troopers milling around near the side entrance, but they aren't paying much attention.

On the side of the house, a window into the living room is open. I climb through first and Sam follows me. From memory I head for the office, assuming there will be some information in there. I take the desk first, sifting through the paperwork. "Encyclopedia of Christian history," Sam reads from the shelves. "Old and New Testament."

Pretty standard fare but I find a folder that contains something much weirder. "Openly gay teacher wins lawsuit," I read aloud from the headline of a newspaper clipping. I recognize the name and know that Sam will too, so I hold it up for him to see that the article is about Mary Hall. The next article makes my stomach sink. "Strong message sent to Nation's Right: Local Church a Cult."

The picture on the front of the article is of the same protestor we just passed…and his head is circled just like Mary's. "Let's go," Sam says as we hurry from the office and back toward the open window. On the way, I call Dean's cell phone.

"What do you got?" he answers.

"Roy's choosing victims he sees as immoral," I tell him. "And we know who's next on his list. Remember the protestor?"

"The guy in the parking lot?" I quickly explain the articles and Dean curses under his breath on the other line. "You find him."

"We will," I tell him, as we get down the stairs and into the parking lot where we last saw him. "You can't let Roy heal anyone else, OK?"

"Easier said than done," Dean mutters. My heart skips a beat because I know what he's saying; Roy has finally picked Leila. We're going to rob her chance again. I hang up on Dean and focus instead on finding the protestor whose life is in immediate danger.

"Help!" a man's voice shouts from nearby. "Help me!" We start sprinting and I nearly crash into David, the protestor, while he runs from something I can't see.

"Where is it?" I demand.

"Its right there!" he screams, pointing at nothing. I start to shove him backward and Sam joins in, encouraging him to run with us. We dodge around several trees, trying to keep David on his feet and away from the reaper. Every time he even starts to slow, David starts screaming and pointing at nothing again.

Finally, Sam's phone rings and he answers it on speaker. "I stopped Roy," Dean's voice says on the other end.

"David, stop," I tell him firmly. David listens, coming to a slow and panting hard. He looks around in every direction while Sam and I watch him closely. After a moment, David takes a deeper breath.

He nods and breathes, "I think it's OK." I take a deep breath as well, grateful that the mad running from an invisible man is over. Sam starts to tell Dean it's done and then, suddenly, David lets out a horrific, gargling scream. I spin to find him sinking to his knees – a lot like I did when Roy touched me – and turning an unnatural gray-blue color, silently.

"Dean, it didn't work!" I shout, turning toward the phone desperately. "It's still coming!"

"It must not have worked," Sam breathes, running his hand through his hair with panic coming over his face.

"Roy must not be controlling this thing," Dean snarls on the other end.

"Then who the hell is?" I demand, not in a mood for research while David starts to stroke-out on the ground in front of me.

Dean pauses for a moment and then breathes, "Sue Ann." We hear a scuffle on the other end and I hold my breath, watching David. There's a shriek on the other end and the more scuffling before the line goes dead. I don't have time to worry about Dean because David falls forward onto his hands like he was released by an invisible force.

He's gasping and breathing, but definitely alive. The reaper is definitely gone, and well kneel beside David to help him gather his breath. Though he thanks us a million times, David is just as anxious to leave now as we are to go find Dean, and finding him in handcuffs with State Troopers on either side of him makes me nearly as anxious as David's close call. Sam and I jog over the scene, finding Sue Ann with them as well.

"I just don't understand," Sue Ann is telling Dean we arrive. When she sees me, her face becomes much more sour. "After everything we've done for all of you – after Roy healed you. I'm just very disappointed."

I narrow my eyes at her, wishing I could accuse her of something solid in front of the cops. I know that I'll just get Dean in more trouble though and probably end up in cuffs myself. "You can let him go," Sue Ann tells the police. "I'm not going to press charges. The Lord will deal with him as He sees fit."

Sue Ann walks away and one of the cops start to release Dean. "We catch you around here again, son, and we'll put the fear of God in you," he threatens. "Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Dean announces, not even trying to feign sincerity. "Fear of God."

As the Troopers walk away, I start to scold Dean for getting caught but he looks past me and pales as he breathes, "Leila."

"Why would you do that Dean?" she demands. I assume, judging by the fact that the tent is empty now, and Dean did something to bring an abrupt end to service. Leila looks angry and sad and confused all at once. I'm not confused – I feel terribly guilt. She looks at me and Sam as well when she notes, "That could have been my only chance."

"He's not a healer," I tell her.

She blinks at me and notes, "He healed you."

I swallow hard, hating the nausea I feel every time I see her. "I know that it doesn't seem fair, and I wish I could explain. But Roy is not the answer." Leila just stares at me and all I can offer is, "I'm sorry."

"I wish you luck, Kenzie," she breathes, taking a step away from us. "I really do. Goodbye."

"Same to you," I say as she turns and leaves. She can't hear me but I admit out loud, "You deserve it a lot more than I do." Leila joins her mom and Roy who is telling them something in a hushed voice. I can only just hear him, promising to meet with them this evening.

Dean motions for me to walk away with them and I do, heading back for the car and then the hotel. We're going to have to wait for round 2 to put an end to all this. Back at the motel, we get down to some reading into what it takes to bind a reaper. I don't admit to the guys that I'm not really in the mood, but they don't question me when I choose just to lay down on one of the beds instead of helping. After a little while, Sam comes and sits beside me to use the laptop instead of sitting at the table. Even his nearness is comforting to my hurting soul and I don't dare move away from him.

It's nearly dusk when Sam suddenly says, "Guys, get this." That's got to be his catchphrase, but it catches my attention so I look up at him from where I lay. "I saw this same book in the library at Roy's house. It's ancient, written by a priest who went dark side. There's a binding spell in here for trapping a reaper."

"That must be one hell of a spell," Dean notes, reaching out to take the laptop and look for himself.

"Yeah, you've got to build a black alter with seriously dark stuff," Sam agrees. "Bones and human blood."

I shake my head, staring back up at the ceiling again. "To cross a line like that," I muse. "And as a preacher's wife? Black magic, murder, evil." I just shake my head, unable to understand what Sue Ann has been thinking.

"Desperation," Sam says. "Her husband was dying and she would have done anything to save him." He's right – at first anyway. She didn't do anything crazier for Roy than I'd do for Sam or Dean in the same situation. "She was using the binding spell to keep the reaper away from Roy. Cheating death – literally."

"Yeah, but Roy's alive so why is she still using the spell?" Dean asks.

I sit up, finally finding the energy and willingness. "You know, Jim always said that we should pray for God to save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work." Sam gives a short humorless laugh and a nod. "We gotta break that binding spell."

"You know, Sue Ann had a Coptic Cross just like this," Dean tells us, turning the computer so that we can see the screen. "When she dropped it, everything seemed to stop."

"So you think we need to find the cross or destroy the alter?" Sam asks.

"Both," I suggest.

"Whatever we do, we'd better do it soon." Dean closes the laptop and stands, grabbing his laptop. "Roy's healing Leila tonight." With that, we're off. This is going to be our best shot and potentially our last.

 **…** **Church…**

There's no crowd here at night, just some parked cars and lights on in the tent. And the ever-present State Trooper. As we get out of the Impala, Dean points and says, "That's Leila's car. She's already here."

 _Leila. Again. I'm personally robbing this girl of her life._

I don't realize that I've stopped walking until the guys stop ahead of me and Sam calls, "Kenzie."

I swallow and look up at them. "You know, if Roy had picked Leila instead of me she'd be healed by now," I remind them.

"Mack, don't."

"And if she's not healed tonight, she's gonna die in a couple of months."

Sam comes back to me and holds my shoulders gently in his big, strong hands. "What's happening to Leila is horrible," he allows. "But what are you going to do – let someone else die to save her? You said it yourself Kenzie; she's a monster for playing God."

He's right, of course, and I know that. It wasn't right for someone to die in order to save me and it wouldn't be right for that to save Leila, no matter how much the people who care about us might want us to live. I'm not going to feel better if anyone else dies and I know that if Leila knew the truth, she wouldn't want this.

 _No one would want this horrible feeling of knowing someone else dies for you_.

We head for the back of the tent and look through the spaces. There's a small crowd including Leila, her mom, and Roy. "Where's Sue Ann?" I wonder aloud.

"House, probably," Dean suggests. That's not good news considering the State Troopers blocking the stairs up to the house. "Alright, you guys need to get in there and find her. I'll make it happen." Before we can stop him, Dean strolls away from us. We follow at a safe distance, ducking behind a car while Dean marches right up to the steps. "Hey. You guys ready to give me that fear of God?" he calls to the Troopers. They bite at the bait immediately and take off in chase after him as Dean runs through the parking lot.

"He's nuts," I mutter as Sam and I run in the other direction, taking the stairs to the house two at a time. The very same window is open this evening, and Sue Ann is nowhere to be found on the main floor. "Hey," I whisper to Sam when I find a stairwell heading down. "If I had a black alter, I'd put it in a basement."

"Let's just be careful," he advises while I head down the stairs ahead of him. The basement is large but unfurnished and relatively empty expect for a work bench in the back. It might have been used at one time for tools but now it contain the altar we're looking for, complete with candles and a bowl full of ominous-looking bits and fluid. "Look," Sam says, pointing to a picture pinned to the corkboard.

 _She's after Dean_.

I waste no time, sweeping back of my arm across the table and sending the contents flying to the floor. Sam follows suits and yanks the table clear from the wall, throwing the entire thing to the ground to ensure the altar is entirely destroyed. Before we even have a chance to hope it's over, there's a loud band and then the unmistakable sound of chains. It occurs to me that it was the door and I guess Sam as well because he runs to the other side of the basement with me. At the top of the stair, the door isn't moving.

I can hear someone moving out there and I shout, "Let us out, you bitch!"

"I gave you life Kenzie, and I can take life away," Sue Ann says ominously from the other side. Sam throws himself into the wood, trying to making it open and is unsuccessful. "Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked! Your brother is wicked and he deserve to die, just as Leila deserves to live. That's God's will."

Without another word, I hear Sue Ann start to walk away. "No!" Sam shouts, recognizing as I have that Dean is in serious trouble here.

"We need to find another way out," I tell Sam, hurrying back down the stairs. There's a window on the other side of the room, nearly six feet off the ground. It's small, but I think I can get through it. "Can you get me up there?" I ask.

Sam hurries over with me and grabs me around the hips, lifting me as if I only weighed a few pounds – though compared to him, I probably to. He gets me high enough that I can use my arms to open the glass and start to pull myself through, Sam pushing on my feet now from below me to help. "I'll get myself out – get Dean!" Sam calls as I finally escape completely.

As soon as I'm on my feet, I haul ass. I'm running toward the tent as fast as I can and only push harder when I see them. Dean and Sue Ann are at the back of the tent. She's standing over him and Dean is on his knees, looking up at nothing just like David was doing when the reaper had him. There's just no time to spare judging by the way Dean looks so I don't slow or stop, slamming myself into Sue Ann with all the weight I can manage and tackle her straight to the ground. When she's under me, I grab for her throat and find the necklace that I yank off of her.

"Don't!" she screams as I scramble off of her and throw the cross to the ground. I complete the smash job by stomping on it several times. "My God!" Sue Ann shouts, crawling over and picking up the pieces desperately. "What have you done?"

"He is not your God," I inform her. Dean is released, falling forward onto his hands and knees where he groans loudly before coughing hard. I run to him, dropping to my knees in front of him. I take his face between both of my hands and pull him to look at me. "Hey, hey. You with me? You OK?"

It's Sue Ann who answers from the ground in a strangled, "No – no." Dean and I both look over to find that she's the one choking now from a seemingly unseen force. It looks like the reaper – now off the chain – is seeking his revenge on the monster who kept him. Sue Ann does not go pleasantly or quickly and I have to look away after a moment.

Dean's eyes are a much more pleasant sight and I ask him again, "Are you OK?"

"I'm good," he breathes, holding my arms as I help him up off of the ground. "I'm good," he repeats through a cough. I swing his arm around my shoulder and let him lean heavily on me, feeling him sway a bit. I manage to give him some support while we walk back toward the house and the car. Sam catches up halfway just as Dean is starting to gain his strength and bearings again.

"What happened?" he asks, giving Dean a quick once over. "Where's Sue Ann?"

I take a breath, kind of wondering the same thing myself. I answer him confidently, "She's facing her own judgement."

 **…** **Later, Hotel…**

I pull up out front of the hotel, finding a parking spot right in front of our room. I reach for the keys but Dean stops me. "You know, leaving it running," he suggests. "Having a reaper try to kill me is definitely an excuse to go out for a beer…or whiskey…or both."

"You want some company?" Sam asks him from the back seat.

Dean glances over at me and I find that his gaze is pointed. "No, you guys hang here," he offers. When I realize what he's doing, my stomach flops and every inch of my skin starts tingling. He's leaving me and Sam alone on purpose.

If I hadn't been near death a couple of days ago…I'd find a way out of this. I'd panic about Sam touching or seeing the scars, or convince myself that we needed to find a new job, or I'd waste time by calling Jim. But the reality is that I nearly died – I was going to die. And there are certain things that I'm just not willing to die without doing first.

Sam doesn't think much of Dean leaving and head inside the hotel room. He seems casual while my heart is pounding so hard I don't know how it's possible that he doesn't hear it.

 _How do I even start something like this? Dean really should have given me some advice – this is his area of expertise._

I'm rescued momentarily when, seconds after the door shuts, someone knocks on it. Sam frowns at me but I shrug so he opens it just an inch before opening it all the way. Leila is one of the last people I expected to find standing there. "Hey – what are you doing here?" he asks pleasantly.

"I saw you guys leaving tonight," she answers. "And I might have stalked you." Leila looks over at me and says, "I thought it was only right to say goodbye." I feel the edge of my mouth tug up a little without permission. Our last goodbye wasn't exactly lovely so I'm happy to see her here.

"I'm gonna grab a soda," Sam announces, giving me a small smile and then quickly ducking out of the room. I motion for Leila to sit at the table with me, quickly gathering all the creepy stuff we were looking at and shoving them into Sam's backpack.

"So where are you guys going?" she asks.

I shrug and tell her honestly, "Don't know yet. Our work kind of takes us all over."

Leila nods slowly and then turns to me with that gentle smile of her. "So you already know this but…I want back to see Roy?"

"What happened?" I ask hoping that there was some mojo left or maybe the reaper used Sue Ann's life to heal Leila.

"Nothing," she answers simply, shrugging her shoulders. "He laid his hand on my forehead but…nothing happened."

"I'm sorry." And I mean that. "I'm sorry it didn't work."

"And Sue Ann – she's dead you know," Leila continues. "A stroke, suddenly." I raise my eyebrows to feign surprise but nod. I have a feeling that she knows I know that anyway. "Roy is a good man. He doesn't deserve what's happened."

I nod and agree, "You're right about that." Roy only thought he was doing good, using a power he actually believed in. He had no idea anyone was being hurt and now he has to live the rest of his life wondering why it stopped working and why his wife was taken from him. I can imagine how it'll change him and I don't like the idea. I look up at Leila. "It must be rough to believe in something so much and have it disappoint you like that."

Leila takes a deep breath and then sighs with a smile as if letting a weight fall from her shoulders. "You want to hear something weird? I'm OK." I narrow my eyes at her a little, wondering if she's just saying that for my benefit. Leila laughs and assures me, "Really! I guess if you're gonna have faith, we can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't."

 _Maybe she's right…_

"So what now?" I ask her.

Leila gives me another smile and then stands. She extends her arms to me and I let her, hugging her tight. I know that the gesture is both apologizing and accepting my apology. She releases me, holding me at arm's length, as she says, "God works in mysterious ways. Goodbye Kenzie.

"Hey," I call as she reaches the door. "I'm not much for praying…I'm not good at it anyway, but uh…I'm gonna pray for you."

"Well," she breathes, surprise evident on her face. "That's a miracle right there."


	13. Interlude (1x12-13)

Just For a Moment

Sunlight streams through a space in the curtains in the morning, barely dawn judging by the light. I stretch and immediately feel the soreness in my back, my legs, and my…well, everywhere. My joints feel kind of loose and I have a weird Jell-O-esque feeling in all of my muscles. For once, it's not a fight that's woken me up in a sore and slightly battered state. Feeling Sam breathing heavily, his head rested on the pillow just above mine, brings back memories of the night before…a night I hope I'll never forget…

* _I fall onto the bed under Sam, his body coming down hard on top of mine but without managing to squish or hurt me. His mouth finds my neck now, trailing small kisses over my collarbones. His hands just everywhere all at once, tugging and caressing and groping and feeling. My whole body is alive in ways I've never felt before, heat surging and pulsing to my core with every kiss. Just when I think I've found true bliss, Sam's head disappears under the blanket…and then his kisses move below my waist_.*

I'm brought out of my daydream when my involuntary wiggling from the arousal wakes Sam. He doesn't lift his head from my chest and keeps his arm around my waist, pulling me more securely against him. Sam nuzzles his nose into my neck, his scruff tickling and making me giggle.

 _Did I just friggin' giggle? What the hell was that?_

My inner disgust is forgotten when Sam lifts his head, resting it on the palm of his upturned while his elbow is just beside my head. _Wow_. Does he always look this hot in the morning? Sam's eyes look almost blue this morning and they're bright and wide. His hair is an absolutely perfect mess and I can't help but reach up and touch it. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice deep and scratchy. That rough sound will never just be innocent to me again…

 _*Sam's hand fists in my hair and pulls, dragging my head back and exposing my whole throat to him. It only just doesn't hurt and I love it, not resisting the moan that escapes. When he finally fills me, there's a sharp pain but it last barely a second…and then when he moves I forget all about it. I let out the breath I'd been holding in a sigh but while my anxiety is suddenly gone, Sam is completely tense above me. I feel him shudder as his forehead comes to rest against mine. The way that he moans, "Oh, Kenzie," is definitely my new favorite sound_.

I shake my head to get out of my own head and manage to reply to Sam appropriately, finding that my brain loss from last night has subsided a bit. Sam gives me an odd look and asks, "How are you feeling?" He sounds almost cautious.

"Are you worried?" I ask, smiling up at him. He shrugs innocently and I laugh a little. "I feel pretty damn great actually."

Sam nearly stalls my heart when he beams down at me, his dimples only adding to the megawatt look. He kisses me, lips lingering slowly, and then breathes, "Good." One more kiss, his lips warm and soft, and then he pulls away a bit. "Dean is never out long after dawn."

"Right – he has to escape the bar flies early," I respond even though I hate the idea of moving right now. I take a deep breath and note, "I need to call Jim, too." Sam nods and tells me he's going to take a shower. He starts to turn away and then leans back down, giving me a deep kiss that I feel all the way in my toes. Just as quickly he's gone, heading for the bathroom and leaving me alone to watch him go.

I take the opportunity to stretch lazily across the whole mattress. I feel wonderful and my night exceeded all expectations. It almost feels like we're normal people, who have a normal relationship for a moment. Well, until the next job and the next monster at least.


	14. 1x13: Highway 666

Chapter 13

Highway 666

I kick my feet up on the table, leaning back with a coffee and the newspaper. I have to admit that I'm feeling pretty damn good right. Dean came home just after I'd gotten out of the shower so he didn't catch either of us in the act. While he keeps smirking at me, he'd gotten word of a job so we escaped most of the teasing I'd been expecting. Dean's in the shower now and Sam sits across from me at the table, trying to find our way towards Pennsylvania for this job around a blocked highway.

"How was Jim?" Sam asks casually.

"Good," I answer, reading some story about a local bar fight over a woman who is most likely a prostitute. People are stupid. "I didn't tell him."

Sam makes a choking noise and I look up to see him coughing into his coffee and nearly spitting it up. He looks at me with wide eyes. "Why would…I mean you – you were thinking about telling him?"

"Yeah, I mean…I kind of feel guilty about not telling him when we first found out," I answer honestly, shrugging my shoulders. "I didn't want to freak him out, but he'll be upset he didn't know."

"Kenzie." Now Sam is giving me a pointed almost dead-panned look. "I thought you meant you were going to tell him about last night." I throw my head back in surprise laughter, understanding Sam's initial reaction now. The last thing I plan to do is inform my surrogate dad and Pastor that I lost my virginity to a hunter – and John Winchester's son.

Dean emerges from the bathroom, dressed but missing his jacket, and Sam looks up at him, still smiling. "Oh, hey, I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east here. And we might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought."

"Yeah, problem is we're not going to Pennsylvania," Dean answers, already throwing his crap into a duffel bag. He's been in the hotel less than two hours and his shit is everywhere, but I'm too confused to point this out at the moment.

I bring my chair back down onto four legs and put down the newspaper. "What?"

"I just got a call from an old friend," he replies. "Her father was killed last night and she thinks it might be our kind of thing."

"Really?" Sam asks as I jump to my feet, also packing away my stuff. Sam, of course, is already packed.

"Yeah and believe me, she never would have called if she didn't need us." He pauses for emphasis and adds, "Never." Something in the tone of his voice tells me that this old friend is more than just a friend and I throw a look in Sam's direction. His smirk tells me that he's thinking the same thing. "Come on."

We're out of the hotel right away and on the highway heading south in minutes. Sam gets some details to look up the case on his phone while in the backseat and I take shot gun. For half an hour, Dean can't stop fidgeting and he looks oddly constipated. I'm trying not to find it hilarious. "So, by old friend, you mean…" I begin, raising my eyebrows at him.

"A friend that's not new," he quips.

"Yeah, thanks." Since he's being a jerk, I reach over and quickly snag his cell phone from where it rests beside his leg. Dean shoots me a death glare but doesn't take it back. There's a girl's name at the top of his incoming calls list. "Her name's Cassie."

"You've never mentioned her to me," Sam says from the back, his voice teasing.

"Didn't I?" Dean shrugs it off but I can tell he doesn't feel casual about this conversation. Something strange is going on here. "We went out."

I laugh and shake my head. "Wait, you mean you dated someone? For more than one night?"

"Am I speaking a language you two aren't getting here?" I can't help but laugh at his response and finally get a smirk from Dean as he playfully punches my arm. It gets him to open up at least a tiny bit, though. "Dad and I were working a job in Athens, Ohio. She was finished up college. We went out for a couple weeks."

"And?" I press. Dean shakes his head, unwilling to say anymore but I know there's more to it.

Sam tells us, "Look, it's terrible about her dad but this report kind of sounds like a standard car accident. I'm not seeing how it fits with what we do." Sam pauses and when he speaks again, his tone is no longer light. "Which – by the way – how does she know what we do?"

 _Oh, crap._

When Dean is silent, Sam yells, "You told her! Our big family rule number one: we do what we do and we shut up about it." Dean still doesn't respond so Sam continues, gaining steam. "For a year and a half I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple of times and you tell her everything?" Sam pauses, waiting for a response from Dean this time. He grips the steering wheel tighter as Sam yells, "Dean!"

"Yeah, looks like," is all Dean says, not even bothering to yell back at Sam. Yeah, that's definitely not all that happened. I frown at Dean and then glance back at Sam. He still looks a little pissed but mostly confused; I think he's figured out that there's more going on here. Sam makes the wise decision and cuts his brother a break for now, letting us take the rest of the right to Louisiana in relative silence.

 **…** **2 Hours Later; Cassie's House…**

Cassie lives in a small southern town a couple hours outside of Baton Rouge. I make a mental note to drag the boys to New Orleans if we have time; I'm a sucker for Cajun food. Her house – or the house she'd given Dean directions to – is a big colonial with one of those great wraparound porches. I like it immediately. There's one small, silver Honda in the driveway, but not much else around and the house seems quiet. Dean leads us up the stairs and knocks on the front door.

It opens just a minute later revealing by far the prettiest girl I've ever seen Dean with. She's short – barely taller than me at a glance – and just curvy enough to be Dean's type with a caramel skin tone and the kind of curly hair I'd kill someone for. This Cassie chick is _hot._ She blinks, almost surprised, and says simply, "Dean."

"Hey, Cassie," Dean replies with his voice even more gruff than usual. She pushes open the screen door and holds it to let the three of us walk in past her. "This is my brother, Sam, and Kenzie." I smile and nod to her, taking a quick glance around the house that's even bigger than it seemed from the outside. Cassie's pretty well off, I think.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Sam offers politely. He always knows what to say; somewhere along the line most kids learn social decorum and I just missed school that day.

Cassie nods and admits, "Yeah, me too." She motions for us to follow her as she heads into a sitting room. "My mom's in pretty bad shape so I've been staying with her." She sighs deeply as she sits down on one of the couches. "I wish she wouldn't go off by herself; she's been nervous…frightened. She was worried about Dad before."

I take the seat beside her on the couch since Dean is clear on the other side of the room now and ask, "Why?"

"He was scared," she tells me. "He was…seeing things.

"Like what?" Dean asks now, interested if not uncomfortable as hell. Cassie glances toward him quickly but then changes her mind; she's just as awkward.

"He swore that he saw an awful-looking black truck following him."

I frown and repeat, "A truck? Who was the driver?"

She shakes her head. "He didn't talk about the driver, just the truck. He said that it would appear and disappear. And…and in the accident, Dad's truck was dented like it had been slammed into by something big."

 _OK that is weird._

Cassie jumps up suddenly and asks us to wait while she disappears from the room. I look up at Dean and mouth to him, "Wow!" He gives me a cocky smirk and a wink but there's still something off; he's distracted. Sam clears his throat to give me a look and I just shrug; I'm allowed to have good taste.

"Here, I have some of the pictures from the scene," Cassie says when she returns with a folder. She hands it to me and Dean comes to sit down and look, squeezing himself beside me and the arm of the chair instead of sitting next to Cassie. She's right, the back of the car is really banged up.

"Now you're sure this dent wasn't there before?" Sam clarifies.

"He sold cars so he always drove a new one," she answers. "There wasn't a scratch on that thing."

"Police reports said it had rained that night," Dean mutters, mostly talking to me I think.

"There's definitely a set of tracks," I note, pointing to the pictures in sequence. "Leading from his car…right to the edge." The tracks stop where the car would have gone right off the edge of the highway.

"Just one set of tracks," Cassie chimes in.

"And you said someone else was killed, too?" I ask.

She nods. "Last week. My father's best friend, Clayton Solmes. Same thing; dented car and no tracks. The cops said exactly what they said about Dad – he lost control."

I turn back toward Cassie as I ask, "Can you think of why your father and his partner might have been targets."

"No." She sounds sure.

"And you think this vanishing truck ran him off the road?" Sam asks.

Cassie gives a short laugh. "Well, when you say it aloud like that." She runs her hands over her thighs and then stands up, clearly not in her realm of comfort. "Listen, I'm a little skeptical about this ghost stuff or whatever it is you guys are into."

"Skeptical?" Dean snorts rudely. "If I remember, I think you said I was nuts."

"That was then," Cassie snaps, frowning deeply at him. Dean just makes a noise but doesn't push the matter. "I just know that I can't explain what happened up there, so I called you. Can you help?"

Just then the front door can be heard opening and it's a moment later when a slight woman walks in. She pales when she sees us. "Mom, where have you been?" Cassie asks.

"Oh…I had no idea you'd invited friends over."

We all stand politely and Cassie makes short introductions. "Mom, this is Deans – he's a friend of mine from college – and his brother and sister, Sam and Kenzie." No one tries to correct her.

"I, uh…I won't, um, interrupt you." I can tell from here that the poor woman is barely keeping it together and knowing that she just lost her husband, I can understand why.

She turns to go but Dean calls gently after her, "Mrs. Robinson?" She pauses and looks back. "We're very sorry for your loss. We'd really like to talk to you for a minute, if you don't mind."

Mrs. Robinson looks like the idea is downright terrifying. She recovers quickly and shakes her head. "I'm really not up to that just now." With that, Mrs. Robinson is gone. We leave Cassie then, promising to try to get somewhere but we really have nothing. Back at the hotel, the night is wasted on reading police reports and searching into the clean histories of both men.

We're hitting a dead end with this one before we even get started.

 **…** **Morning…**

Dean's phone vibrating on the bedside table drags me out of a sound sleep in the morning, forcing me to lift my head from the pillow. I'm lying on my stomach and Sam is all but completely on top of me, only my t-shirt and his boxers separating the lengths of our bodies. I'm grateful he's not this clingy when we're awake, but I have to push him off now to reach the phone as Dean is still snoring. Sam groans but lets me go. The caller ID tells me that it's Cassie, so I sit up to answer. "Cassie, it's Kenzie," I answer. "What's up?"

"There was another death," she tells me, voice breathy like she's running around or panicked. "I need you guys to meet me at the scene."

I grab a pad of paper and pen off the table. "Tell me where." With directions, I hang up from Cassie and stand. "Rise and shine boys!" I call to them loudly. "We've got another victim; Cassie's waiting." I'm not sure if it's the third victim or Cassie's name but Dean is moving much faster this morning than usual.

Sam gets us updated with the police report as it's formed; Jimmy Anderson is the editor in chief of a local newspaper, sixties, and well-respected in the community. His car was found this morning, run off the road with the victim dead on the inside. It's just like Clayton and Cassie's father. "I still don't know what brings the victims together," Sam muses.

"They're friends," Dean notes. That might be enough to do it. I can't help thinking that something else is happening though – a lot like the something else I thing is going on with Dean and Cassie. We arrive at the scene and Sam waits in the car so that we don't overwhelm the locals. We're not in our suits but the cops aren't doing much to keep us away, so we make our way toward Cassie where she stands with a tall older man.

As we approach, we can hear them talking. "How about closing this section of road for starters?" Cassie suggests to the man.

He gives her a disapproving, almost annoyed, look. "Close the main road – the only road in and out of town. Accidents happen, Cassie. That what they are: accidents." I figure they must know each other pretty well since he's calling her Cassie, but neither looks happy to be having this conversation.

"Did the cops check for denting on Jimmy's car to see if it was pushed?" Dean asks as we arrive, standing just behind Cassie. He missed the day of social decorum classes, too.

"Who's this?" the man asks Cassie instead of us.

"This is Dean and Kenzie Winchester," She answers. "They're family friends. This is Mayor Harold Todd."

Mayor Todd gives us a short, curt nod but then looks back at Cassie. "There's one set of tracks. One. That doesn't point to foul play."

Cassie isn't having that. "Mayor, the police and town officials take their cues from you. If you're indifferent about – "

"Indifferent?" Mayor Todd raises his voice a little and it's easy to see that Cassie has crossed a line. "Would you close the road if the victims were white? You're suggesting I'm racist, Cassie, and I'm the last person you should talk to like that."

"Why is that?" she asks. Cassie might have a point. She's the only non-white person here this morning and all of the victims were black. We're in the deep south and everyone's heard terrible stories.

"Why don't you ask your mother?" the mayor suggests. With that, he turns and starts to walk away. Cassie turns toward us with an exasperated sight.

"Thanks for coming," she says. "Same thing."

"Yeah, so we heard. I'm really sorry you've had another loss, Cassie," I offer genuinely. She looks tired and very sad. I want Dean to hug her.

Instead of hugging her, Dean ask, "Do you know if Jimmy had any family we might be able to talk to?" Cassie nods and gives us the name of a good friend and where to find him. We separate then as she has to get to work for the newspaper and home to check on her mother. Dean and I head back for the car.

"She's fearless, I'll give her that," I offer, speaking about Cassie. "Bet she kicked your ass a couple of times." Dean gives me a sideways glance but I catch him smiling so I know he's not in a bad mood yet…and like any good sister, I'm going to push it. "What's interesting is that you guys never really look at each other at the same time. You look at her when she's not looking, she checks you out when you look away."

We reach the car and I pause before opening the back door. Dean stops and gives me a dirty look. "Your point?"

I shrug innocently. "It's just an interesting observation in a, you know, observationally interesting way."

"You think we might have some more pressing issues here?" he demands.

I fight a smile and tease, "Oh, hey, if I'm hitting a nerve – "

"Oh my God," Dean groans, yanking the door open and throwing himself into the car while I finally release my laughter. "Sam will you shut this pain in my ass up? Let's go!" We duck back to the hotel quickly and change, putting on suits because it's unlikely that Jimmy's friend is going to talk to us if he doesn't think that he has to.

We find the man we're looking for almost exactly where Cassie told us to look. I guess this really is a small town. "Excuse me," I call as we head over to a table near the piers. Two older, heavy seat men are enjoying lunch together. Ron is one of the few black people other than Cassie I've seen in this town. "Are you Ron Stubbins? Friend of Jimmy Anderson's?"

The man narrows his eyes at us skeptically. "Who are you?"

Dean answers, "We're with Mr. Anderson's insurance company. We're just here to dot some I's and cross some t's." Now's probably not the time to mention that he said that backwards. Of course knowing Dean, he did it on purpose. Ron gives a small nod and signals he'll talk so we take seats the table as well to give them some room.

"We were wondering if the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?" Sam asks.

"What do you mean unusual?" Ron clarifies.

Sam shrugs as if what he's going to ask is natural. "Well, visions…hallucinations." When Ron's friend gives me a strange look, Sam assures them. "It's all part of a medical examination kind of thing.

"What company you say you were with?" Ron asks. Dean quickly spits out the name of the largest insurance company any of us can think of. We've seen it on commercials enough times so it's a safe bet and Ron's lack of response seems to show that we've passed that test.

"Ron, I need you to tell me something," I tell him, hoping to at least gauge a reactions. "Did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?"

Now it's Ron's friend who reacts and drops his sandwich. "What the hell are you people talking about?" he demands. "You even speaking English?" That's kind of ironic coming through a thick southern drawl like that one but I don't mention it.

My long short worked and Ron is engaged. "This truck…big, scary, monster-looking thing?" he asks me.

"Yeah that'd sound about right."

"Hmm. Well I have heard of a truck like that," he admits casually.

"You have?" Sam asks, surprised ringing through in his voice. "Where?"

Ron shakes his head. "Not where, when. Back in the sixties, there was a string of deaths – black men. Story goes they disappeared in a big, nasty black truck."

"Did they ever catch the guy who did it?" Dean asks.

"Never found him. Hell, I'm not even sure they really look." Ron and his friend exchange glances, each simultaneously challenging and apologizing to one another from the way it looks. "See, there was a time when this town wasn't too friendly to all of its citizens."

And now the same black truck has taken the lives of 3 black men. I don't believe in coincidence so now I'm certain something bad is happening here. With all of us satisfied, we thank Ron and get on our way back to the car. "Big black truck," Dean mumbles.

"Keeps coming up, doesn't it?" I muse.

"I was thinking," Sam begins. He's got that excited look to him when he thinks he's figured something out and he can barely contain it any longer. "You've heard of the Flying Dutchman." Dean and I both nod, easily finding his train of thought.

"Ghost ship infused with the captain's evil spirit," Dean recalls. "The thing was basically a part of him."

"So, what if we're dealing with the same thing," Sam presses as we get back to the car. We get in but Dean doesn't start the engine and no one moves yes.

Dean nods slowly while thinking aloud, "A phantom truck who's the extension of some bastard ghost, re-enacting past crimes."

"The victims have all been black men," Sam reminds us.

"I think it's more than that," I admit. "They all seem connected to Cassie and her family."

"OK, I'll take you two back to the hotel," Dean begins, stepping into his leader pants. "See what you can find out about the murder's in the sixties. I'll go over and talk to Cassie."

The smile that slips onto my face is not unwelcome but this time it's Sam who starts the teasing. "You might also want to mention that other thing."

"What other things?" Dean asks, frowning.

"That serious unfinished business." Dean rolls his eyes and starts the car now in an effort the end the conversation. If I didn't know better, I'd swear his blushing.

"Come on, Dean," I encourage him. "What's going on between you two?"

Dean takes a deep breath and drops his head back so that he's looking up at the roof of the car. He's acting annoyed but the fact that he doesn't tell me off says that he kind of wants to talk about it. "So, maybe we were a little bit more involved than I said."

"Yeah, OK," Sam scoffs.

"OK a lot more maybe," Dean admits finally. "I told her the secret about what we do and I shouldn't have."

"Look, man, everybody's got to open up to someone sometime," Sam says kindly

 _I don't._

"Yeah, I don't," Dean says, nearly echoing my thoughts. I'm not sure if I should be happy or disturbed that my thoughts match those of Dean Winchester. "It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended."

Dean's voice is sad when he finishes that sentence and when I realize why, my jaw nearly hits the floor. I gape at him – not attempting to hide it – and judging by the way Dean glances between us I know that Sam has come to the same conclusion. "Would you stop?" he demands of us. "Blink or something."

"You loved her," I finally say aloud.

"Oh, God," Dean groans, looking away from me.

"You were in love with her…but you dumped her?" I'm trying to make sense of just why Dean would leave someone like Cassie behind. When his shoulders slump a bit, I get it and I almost feel bad for asking.

"Oh, wow, she dumped you," Sam breathes.

Dean doesn't want to hear anymore. He starts the car and then slams down the gas pedal, throwing me into the door. I didn't realize guys like Dean got dumped, but I know Dean well enough to know that it's not a blow he'd take lightly. I guess that's how you end up when you can never really figure out whether or not your dad loves you. None of says anymore on it for the moment and Dean drops us off at the hotel as planned. Sam gets out first and heads inside and it's only after I open my door that I hesitate.

"Hey." Dean looks over at me and I give him the same smirk and wink he's given me a million times. "You're awesome."

Finally he cracks a smile and even laughs. "Thanks, kid. Get the hell out." I do leave him then, feeling much better. Something tells me that after some alone time together, Dean and Cassie will feel better as well. I walk through the hotel door that Sam has left open and shut it behind me.

"You know, I didn't think Dean had ever been dumped," Sam notes.

"Try not to sound so happy about it," I scold playfully but we both laugh. "And you? Any girls leave you scampering for home with your tail tucked between your legs?"

Sam gives me an odd look and asks, "You know, I don't think I'd tell you about those girls even if there were any." I laugh at him and sit down in one of the chairs at the table, pulling my laptop closer. "Hey, do you wanna go out somewhere? Maybe catch a movie or something?"

I laugh but stop quickly when I glance up and find that he's serious. "Sam…we're kind of in the middle of a job here."

"I know." He sits down on the edge of the mattress closest to me and leans toward me. "I just…you know, the other night…I thought maybe we should do something. Something normal."

"That's really sweet," I offer. I mean it. "But we're working."

Sam shakes his head, and I can tell he's trying his best to keep from getting frustrated with me. "Are we always going to be working?"

"I am," I answer honestly. "This is what I do, and you know that. You knew that." I shrug my shoulders because I can't apologize for it. "Things aren't going to change just because…even if we want them to. I'm not going to change, Sam. You have to know that." I'm urging him now because I don't want to hurt him. Sam's gone his whole life expecting something different than he got.

"No, no you're right," Sam says, standing up and shaking his head firmly. "This is important…you're right." I can't tell that he wants to be sincere about it, but I'm not sure that he really is. I don't know how to make this better, though. All I know is how to get back to work and that's exactly what I do.

 **…** **Morning…**

It's the police scanner that wakes me in the morning, notifying us of another accident. This time even more serious so Sam and I suit up before heading over…in a car that does not belong to either of us. Fortunately the cops are so wrapped up in what's happened that they barely give our car or badges a glance, and they're willing to share what they know so far. I guess when your mayor dies, they take it more seriously. It's one of the more gruesome bodies I've ever seen and I'm kind of grateful when they take it out.

"That's not something I'm going to forget for a while," one of the cops who's been talking us through everything notes.

"Yeah, no kidding," I murmur in agreement. A guy in a leather jacket catches my attention and I turn to find Dean being blocked by a couple officers, all of them looking in our direction. I tap Sam's arm for attention and head that way while I call out, "He's with us."

"Where were you?" Sam asks him as we meet up toward the edge of the crime scene. "You didn't make it back to the motel last night."

"Nope," he answers with a little smirk.

I laugh and note, "I'm guessing you guys worked things out?"

"We'll be working things out when we're ninety," he drawls. "So, what happened?"

Sam answers him. "Every bone crushed, internal organs turned to pudding. The cops are all stumped, but it's _almost_ like something ran him over."

"Something like a truck."

"Yep."

"Tracks?"

"Nope."

Dean takes a breath as we reach the Impala. "What was the mayor doing here anyway?"

"He owned the property," I tell him. We did a little research on the way. "Bought it a few weeks ago. What bothers me is that he's white; he doesn't fit the pattern."

"Killing didn't happen up on the road either," Sam chimes in. "Doesn't fit."

I look up at Dean and ask, "Cassie awake and dressed yet? We need help putting this altogether." Dean nods and calls her quickly to let her know that we're on the way. It's a short drive to Cassie's and she's made coffee for all of us. I like this girl.

Sam and I brought with us the records from the other accidents as well as todays and the information we could find on the last string of murders involving a truck. "I'm trying to find some link between those killings in the sixties and what's going on now," I tell Cassie. Today, she's sitting right next to Dean on the couch. "There wasn't a lot about it in the paper."

"That's not surprising," Cassie tells me. "Probably a minimal-police-work deal. Back then equal justice under the law wasn't too literal around here." She says it very matter-of-factly but I can tell that the history of the town she lives in bothers her a little. I can't say that I blame her for it.

"The courthouse records show that Mr. and Mrs. Mayor bought an abandoned property," Sam says, catching Dean and Cassie up on the work we've done. "The previous owner was the Dorian family for like a hundred and fifty years."

"Dorian?" Dean repeats. He looks to Cassie and asks, "Didn't you say the Dorian family used to own the newspaper?"

Cassie nods. "Along with most everything else around here. Real pillars of the town."

"Really?" I clarify, surprised. I fish through the papers, looking for something specific. "That's interesting because this is Cyrus Dorian." I had the picture over to Cassie. "He vanished in April of '63. The case was investigated but never solved, and it was the time that original string of murders was going on."

"I also pulled up the paperwork on the Dorian place, and it's weird they were wealthy," Sam notes. "It must've been in bad shape when the mayor bought it."

"Why is that?" Dean asks.

"The first thing he did was bulldoze the place."

Dean blinks in surprise and asks Cassie, "Mayor Todd knocked down the Dorian place?"

"Yeah, it was a big deal," she answers. "One of the oldest local houses left. It made the front page – Jimmy wrote the article himself."

"You got a date?" Dean asks.

Sam frowns but looks back through the records, finally answering. When he looks down at the page, I watch his face pale. "The third of last month.

It clicks and I curse myself for missing that. "The first killing was the very next day."

It's not long after that that we leave Cassie alone; we've got work to do. The three of us hit the local library first, getting all the information we can on the Dorian's and their home. Sam hacks into the police database for anything we can find on Cyrus's disappearance. The connection is too clear because the house being bulldozed and another string of murders involving back men…and the mayor or bulldozed the house. Most of our day is spent at the plot of land the mayor owns, where the Dorian house used to sit. We search the grounds far past the time when we need flashlights, looking for any sign of something still remaining. There must be something here, something that was missed in construction, that's keeping one of the Dorian's around.

Dean's cellphone breaks the silence and he answers it on speaker. Before he gets a chance to say anything, a sound distinctly of breaking glass comes through on the other end followed by Cassie's voice screaming, "Dean!"

"Cassie!" he responds, voice panicked and urgent. There's a distinct noise in the background and I only need a second to realize it's a truck.

"The truck is there!" I shout at them, already running back toward the Impala. Dean's never driven so fast in his life after losing the connection with Cassie and he skids into the gravel driveway. There's no truck now, no noise, but we all hurry up the porch and Dean opens the front door without knocking. Cassie is on the couch, curled around herself and crying but definitely alive. Her mother sits beside her, pale and stone faced.

Dean crosses the room quickly to check on both of them while Sam and I look around at the damage. The window in the hallway was blown in and some things were strewn around in the chaos. No blood and, outside the window, no tracks. We keep calm and Sam heads into the kitchen for coffee while I go back into the sitting room to sit with them. Dean is standing behind one of the chairs and I join him. "They OK?"

"Physically, yeah," he answers. Sam returns with coffee and hands a mug to each of them.

"You didn't happen to throw a couple shots in this, did you?" Cassie quips, smiling gratefully up at him. We all sit down.

"You didn't see who was driving the truck?" Sam asks carefully. We need to know what happened but her mom might already be in shock, so we don't want to push too far.

Cassie shakes her head. "It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast…and then it was just gone." She looks up at us and asks, "Why didn't it kill us?"

"Whatever is controlling the truck wants you afraid of it first," I tell her honestly. The other victims had reported seeing the truck before their deaths, and they talked about it as though scared of it. That's the point; the spirit wants them terrified and then dead.

"Mrs. Robinson." She looks up at Sam when he says her name. "Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died."

There's a beat where she stares blankly, not answering. "Mom?" Cassie presses.

"Hmm?" she asks, as if coming out of a daydream. "Oh, well, Martin was under a lot of stress. You can't be sure what he was seeing."

 _What the hell?_

I exchange a glance with Dean who looks equally confused and annoyed but Mrs. Robinson's lack of cooperation. "After tonight, I think we can be reasonable sure that he was seeing a truck," I note, raising my eyebrows at the women.

Still, she doesn't react or respond.

Dean sighs and leans forward. "Mrs. Robinson. With what happened tonight? You and Cassie are marked, OK? Your daughter could die so if you know something, now would be a really good time to tell us about it."

"Dean – " Cassie begins, frowning and obviously concerned about her mother.

"Yes," Mrs. Robinson answers suddenly. "Yes, he saw a truck."

"Did he know how that truck belonged to?"

She nods slowly and answers, "He thought he did. Cyrus. A man named Cyrus."

My stomach drops and the four of us look around at one another. I reach into my pocket and unfold the picture from the newspaper. "Is this Cyrus?" I ask, handing it to her.

Mrs. Robinson moves more than she has at all since we got here to take the picture from me. She looks at it and then turns the paper over as if the sight bothers her. "Cyrus Dorian died more than 40 years ago," she murmurs.

"How do you know he died, Mrs. Robinson?" Sam asks. "The paper said he went missing." She doesn't respond immediately, so Sam repeats, "How do you know he died?" Mrs. Robinson looks up at him, blinks, and then takes a breath as she puts her coffee and Cyrus's picture down on the table in front of her.

"We were all very young," she begins slowly. "I dated Cyrus a while. I was also seeing Martin, but in secret of course 'cause interracial couples didn't go over too well then. When I broke it off with Cyrus, and when he found out about Martin…I don't know, he changed."

Her expression is solemn but almost scared too. She continues. "His hatred was frightening." There's a chill of her voice. "With that string of murders…there were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of truck. Nothing was ever done." She takes a breath. "Martin and I were gonna be married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope 'cause we didn't want the attention."

"And Cyrus?"

Mrs. Robinson closes her eyes for a moment as if even thinking about this hurts her. "The day we set for the wedding was the day someone set fire to the church. There was a children's choir practicing in there. They all died." My stomach flips, hard, imagining how responsible Mr. and Mrs. Robinson had to feel for that.

"Did the attacks stop after that?" Cassie asks.

"No, there was one more. One night that truck came for your daddy," her mom responds. "Cyrus beat him something terrible. But Martin…you see, Martin got loose. And he started hitting Cyrus. He just kept hitting him and hitting him." She trails off.

"Why didn't you call the cops?" Sam presses.

She gives him a serious look and notes, "This was forty years ago." Of course; Martin would have been put down for putting his hands on a white man – even if it was a monster of a man who had beat him first.

"He called his friends, Clayton and Jimmy," she continues. "They put Cyrus' body into that truck and then rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land. All three of them kept that secret all these years.

"And now all three are gone," Dean notes. "So is Mayor Todd."

"Right, the Mayor said that you of all people would know that he's not racist," I recall. "Why would he say that."

Mrs. Robinson nods firmly when she tells us, "He was a good man. He was a young deputy back then, investigating Cyrus's disappearance. He figured out what happened – what Martin and the others had done – and he did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus did."

Cassie takes her mom's hand and asks, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I was protecting you," she answers earnestly. Her face grows sad and she mumbles, "And now there's no one left to protect."

"Yes, there is," Dean argues, looking directly at Cassie with one of the warmest gazes I've ever seen him give anyone not me or Sam. Mrs. Robinson is obviously shaken and exhausted, so Cassie excuses herself for a moment to send her mom upstairs for the night.

She returns and groans, "Oh, my life was so simple. Just school, exams." She throws herself down onto the couch heavily. "Papers on polycentric cultural norms."

"So I guess I saved you from a boring existence," Dean suggests, giving her a small smile.

Cassie shoots him a playfully dirty look and notes, "Sometimes I miss boring."

 _Don't we all?_

I get back on track and begin, "So, this killer truck – "

Cassie interrupts me with a laugh and says, "I miss conversations that didn't start with 'this killer truck'."

"Fair enough," I allow, laughing a little. Still, we need to figure this out. "Well, this Cyrus guy was evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb and his spirit was dormant for forty years."

"So what woke it up?" Dean asks.

"The construction on his house…or the destruction," Sam says suddenly. "Demolition or remodeling can awaken spirits, make them restless."

Dean nods and continues, "And the guy who tears down the family homestead is the same guy that kept Cyrus's murder quiet and unsolved. So now his spirit is awake and out for blood." Cassie looks disturbed by the conversation so Dean shrugs casually and adds for her benefit, "I guess. Who knows what ghosts are thinking anyway?"

"OK, well now what?" Cassie asks.

I sigh and look over at the guys. "You know we're gonna have to dredge that body from the swamp?" They both curse under their breaths but we stand up and start to make our way out.

Dean turns to Cassie at the door. "You stay put and look after your mother, and we'll be back. Don't leave the house."

"Don't go getting all authoritative on me," she quips back at him, crossing her arms over her chest in a challenge. I raise my eyebrows in surprise and look up at Sam who looks like he's just found his favorite movie on TV.

"Don't leave the house, please?" Dean tries.

The laughter escapes me before I can catch it and Dean shoots daggers at me through his pretty green eyes. "I'm sorry," I offer. "But I love her." Cassie smiles triumphantly and Dean snarls, stomping down the stairs and toward the car. We follow him and get serious, heading back for the old Dorian land and the swamp.

The work is hard and gross and takes hours. I'm sweating by the time we have the truck connected to the Impala and manage to pull it out of the muddy water. The doors into the cab are pretty much sealed at this point and Sam is working hard to make it open, mostly just rocking the truck. Dean goes to the trunk of the Impala and returns with a crowbar. He comes back and elbows Sam out of the way, wedging the crowbar in and needing only a couple big yanks to pop the door.

"Hell yeah," Dean enthuses, beaming at us over his own work.

"Now I know what she sees in you," I tease, patting his shoulder.

Sam laughs but Dean glares at me. "Can we just focus? Sammy, grab the stuff to torch it. Mack, help me get this outta here." I step forward to see what 'this' is and find that Cyrus is right where he was when the truck went under the swamp. He's a bit more decomposed now and covered in both people and swamp goo, but he's lounging across the front seat like he's just taking a nap.

The very last thing I want is to touch it but I reach up beside Dean and in one smooth pull, we yank Cyrus all the way out of the truck and onto the ground. With some lighter fluid, salt, and a match…he's on his way to resting.

"Think that'll do it?" Sam wonders.

It's neither me nor Dean who answers the question, but Cyrus himself. The first roar of the truck is distinctive and sends us all spinning to find it, sitting maybe thirty yards away and in the middle of the property. The actual truck is right here with us but its spirit – somehow – is threatening down on us, alive and well. It's left the roads altogether and we stand now in the beam of the headlights of that monstrous truck.

"I guess not," Sam mutters as the answer to his own question. "So burning the body had no effect on that thing."

"Sure it did," I argue as the truck's engine revs angrily. "Now it's really pissed." Dean is moving and quickly unhooks the latch of the towing chain from the Impala. He yanks open the car's driver side door with a look of determination in his eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going for a little ride," he calls to us. "I'm gonna lead that thing away." He points to the real truck behind us and says, "That rusted piece of crap – you gotta burn it."

Sam through his arms up, expressing the frustration that I feel. "How the hell am I supposed to burn a truck, Dean?"

"I don't know! Figure something out!" With that Dean jumps into the car and revs his own engine before tearing off. It works because the phantom truck disappears as Dean does but now we have a bigger problem. A ghostly truck is running Dean down and we have no way to stop him. Burning the truck isn't going to be effectual, so we need another way to destroy a spirit. What destroys a spirit?

 _Home. Of course!_

"I need a map!" I yell at Sam.

He gives me a look but then hurries to his backpack which is sitting beside Cyrus's original truck. He yanks out his laptop and fires up a map site. It's not great but he can zero on in a relative area. "Get Dean on the phone and keep him there," I tell him firmly before taking out my own phone to call Cassie. She answers on the second ring. "Cassie, it's Kenzie. Listen, I need some information and it has to be exactly right." Cassie is smart and she works quickly, not questioning me or wasting any time.

When I hang up with her, I call to Sam who's walked away to give me some quiet. "Put him on speaker and come here." Sam's at my side in a flash.

"This better be good, Mack!" Dean shouts from the other end.

"Where are you?" I asks.

"I'm in the middle of nowhere with a killer truck on my ass! It's like it know I put the torch to Cyrus."

"Dean, listen to me. This is really important. I have to know exactly where you are."

There's a two second pause and Dean answers, "Decatur Road, about two miles off the highway."

Sam uses the mouse pad of the laptop to find the area and I check, "OK, headed east?"

"Yes." I hear a loud bang and Dean shouts, "Oh, you son of a bitch."

"Dean, turn right!" I yell, hoping he can hear me over his own cursing at the trust. "Did you make the turn?"

"Yes, I made the turn," he snaps at me. "Let's move this along a little faster."

I'm going to kick his ass for talking to me like this after I save his life. "Alright, do you see a road up ahead?"

"No. Wait, yes, I see it."

"Turn left."

Tires squeal. "OK, now what?"

"Go _exactly_ seven tenths of a mile and stop."

"Stop?" he repeats, saying the word like it's crazy.

"Exactly seven tenths Dean!" I don't know anyone who can judge distance in a car like this guy can so I'm pretty confident, but Dean is quiet. "Dean are you there? What's happening?"

"I stopped and it's just staring me down. What's the plan?"

I take a breath, knowing neither of guys will like this much, and answer, "Exactly what you are doing – bringing it to you?"

"What?" Dean roars. Before he can curse me out or say anything else, his voice on the other end is drowned out by the sound of the truck's engine. It's an ungodly sound and I'm counting on that first part for this plan – ungodly. Suddenly, everything is sielnct.

"Dean?" Sam calls. "Dean! You still there?"

I hear Dean breathing hard on the other end then. "What the hell happened? Where'd it go?" My breath comes out in a harsh exhale, relieved and grateful and damn lucky.

"You're sitting exactly where that church was," I tell him. "The place Cyrus burnt down, where he murdered all of those kids. There's not a whole lot left, but church grown is hallowed ground whether the church is still there or not."

Sam blinks, catching up, and finishes, "And when evil spirits cross over hallowed ground, sometimes they're destroyed."

"Right, so I figured maybe that would get rid of it."

"Maybe?" Dean shouts on the other end. "Maybe? What if you were wrong, Mack?"

I laugh a little and admit, "Honestly, that thought hadn't occurred to me."

"Oh, it hadn't occurred to you," Dean repeats me on the other end. "You understand that I'm going to kill you, yes?"

"I'm brilliant and I saved your life," I remind him. "You're going to buy me a pizza."

There's a pause and then I finally hear Dean chuckle, knowing that my gamble is forgiven. He growls playfully, "No anchovies," and then hangs up on me.

 **…** **Next Day, Cassie's House…**

"My mother says to tell you all thanks again," Cassie tells us as we walk down the steps of her front porch and away from the house. Our bags are packed in the waiting Impala and we're heading out of Louisiana, back up to that case in Pennsylvania which is still waiting for us. I lean on the hood, waiting for Dean where he stops to say goodbye. "You know, this is a better goodbye than last time," Cassie tells him.

"Yeah, well, maybe this time it'll be a little less permanent," Dean suggests. I don't know if they know we can hear them, but I know it's a lie. Even if we offer to make trips down here, Dean won't let himself be distracted from the job. He'll keep focused. He trying to be nice though; maybe I should have done that instead of telling Sam the truth. I'm also going to keep focused…there won't be any movie dates soon.

Cassie, badass that she is, calls Dean out. "You know, I'm a realist. I don't see much hope for us, Dean."

Dean takes it in stride and smiles, giving a casual shrug. "I've seen stranger things happen…hell of a lot stranger." Cassie laughs and they hug, making me smile. I think Dean needed this closure and since Cassie needed her life saved, I'm glad we came.

"I like her," I announce when Dean joins us at the car, pausing beside me at the hood. He smiles gently and nods.

Sam is standing behind me on the passenger side and I hear him ask, "You meet someone like her…does it ever make you wonder if it's worth putting everything else on hold?" I close my eyes, hating the question. Sam's made it clear he'll take any excuse to put this life on hold – permanently. He just doesn't get it.

And I'm not going to answer his question. I stand instead and hold my hand out to Dean. "I'll drive."

Dean nods, also avoiding. "Wake me up when it's my turn." We get into the car and, after a pause, Sam joins us. He doesn't push the topic and I hope that he's caught on. Somehow we're going to have to find a way to reconcile the life, the relationship, that Sam wants and the only life I know how to live. I reach my hand out and snag his, happy when he links our fingers.

I don't want to think about what will happen if we can't find the balance.


	15. 1x14: Nightmares

Chapter 14

I know what I saw. I know what was happening and I _know_ it was real. I don't know how to explain any of it…but I just know. I can barely open my eyes at all because of the pounding behind my eyes but I force myself into a sitting position, pressing my hands down on either side of me. One of them lands on Sam's leg and I feel him stir.

"Kenzie? What is it?" he asks softly.

I blink letting the fog clear a bit. I can still hear that man screaming for help and my heart lurches. There's only one thing we can do. "We have to go," I announce, standing up.

"What?"

I ignore him and go to Dean, shaking his shoulder. "Dean. Dean."

He spins toward me and demands, "What's wrong?"

"We have to go," I repeat, leaving him then to go back our stuff. I don't know when, I just know that whoever that man was…he's in serious trouble.

Sam is standing behind me when he asks, "Kenzie, what's going on?"

"It's the middle of the night," Dean reminds me in his gruff voice.

"I had a dream," I answer them, realizing even as I say it that I realize how stupid it sounds. "Like…the headaches, but I could see through it. And I know that someone is in trouble, so we have to leave."

In a flash, Dean is beside me and pulling a pair of jeans on over his boxers. "Does you head hurt?" he asks. I nod. "You OK?" I nod.

"Wait you had, like…like a vision?" Sam asks, his tone of voice odd enough that I turn around. He doesn't look exactly disturbed but definitely confused.

"A dream," I correct him firmly. "I don't know much, but he had Michigan tags on his car, so we should head in that direction."

"You can call the police database and run the tags," Dean notes wisely. I nod and continue getting ready, pulling on my jacket over the tank top and sweats I'm already wearing. Sam is the only one hesitating but he finally pulls it together and we're in the Impala within a couple of minutes.

Dean calls the tags in for me while Sam drives. I try to relax in the backseat, still suffering from the lingering effects of the headaches. "Mcreedy, Detective Mcreedy. Badge number 148," Dean is saying. He'll use the information I've given him to get the information we need. "I've got a signal four-eighty in progress. I need the registered owner of a 2-door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-Six-Zero-Three-Seven." He pauses before nodding. "Yeah, OK. Just hurry."

"OK, let's all just relax," Sam says calmly from the driver's seat. "I'm sure it was just a nightmare."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I groan. I can feel Sam's eyes on me through the rearview without opening my eyes. I shake my head and tell him, "It felt different. Real."

"Look, I know what you mean," Sam begins. "I had that feeling with the dreams about our old house and Jessica. But that made sense – I had connections. Have you ever seen this guy in your dream before?"

"No."

"Right. Why would you have premonitions or whatever about some random dude in Michigan?"

"I don't know."

"Me neither but we're better safe than sorry," Dean states. Suddenly, he's talking to the person on the phone again. "Yes, I'm here. Jim Miller. Saginaw Michigan. Do you have the street address?"

My stomach flops. I'd been hanging onto the hope that the license plate wouldn't check out but now that I know this is real person in a real place, my anxiety sky rockets. "How far are we?"

"From Saginaw? A couple of hours."

"Drive faster."

 **…** **90 minutes later; Saginaw, MI…**

By the time we get there, my headache has fading to just a dull ache. I know it can't be good news and I feel much worse we when arrive to find a scene surrounded by ambulances, cop cars, and a crowd. "Don't freak out," Dean advises, demonstrating just how well he knows me. "Let's check it out."

We get out of the car and Sam leads the three of us into the crowd of spectators. I can't help but notice that he's being kind of weird, but I can't put my finger on it. "What happened?" Sam asks no one in particular. No one seems to be shy about giving up the gossip either.

"Suicide," a woman answers, shaking her head slowly. "I can't believe it."

"Did you know him?" Dean asks her.

"Sam him every day at Saint Augustine," she answers. "He always seemed so normal. I guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors."

At the house – the house I've definitely seen before – is a woman. She's obviously distraught and surrounded by either friends or family. Jim Miller's body is brought out of the garage in a bag, on a stretcher, and loaded into the back of an ambulance. I feel sick and not just from the headache. "I guess not," I finally murmur, unsure of what else to say.

"What are they saying happened?" Dean asks.

I could answer that question and I'm not at all surprised when someone answers, "I heard they him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running."

"Do you, uh, do you know about what time they found him?" I ask.

"It just happened an hour or two ago." That statement feels like a smack in the face; I never could have made it here on time. Never.

 _So why have the damn vision at all?_

I turn and start to walk back toward the car as I hear someone in the crowd say, "His poor family. I can't even imagine what they're going through."

"Mack," I hear Dean call from behind me. "We got here as fast as we could."

"Not fast enough." I whirl toward him, just as I reach the car, frustrated. "Which doesn't make any sense. Why would I even have this…this premonition or whatever unless there was a chance that I could stop it from happening? I mean, Sam had his before."

"I don't know," Dean allows, shrugging his shoulders gently.

"Maybe it's not the same thing," Sam offers. "Maybe they aren't premonitions like mine."

I frown up at him. "What are they? Post-monitions?" He just shrugs but looks somehow less sympathetic than Dean does. I don't know what's up with him but he's only adding to my frustration.

"What do you think killed him?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head. "Maybe the guy killed himself. Maybe there's nothing supernatural going on here at all."

"You know, when you had your weird vision, she never questioned it," Dean notes now, his voice betraying the frustration with Sam's behavior that I share. "What's wrong with you tonight? What are you, like, jealous that someone else has weirdo visions?"

"Look," I interrupt, annoyed and tired. "I'm telling you that I watched it happen. He was murdered by something. It trapped him in the garage."

Dean takes a step closer to me now. "OK, something like what? A spirit or a poltergeist?" He's trying to help me come to a conclusion but I have no idea at all.

I shake my head and admit, "I don't know what it was." I run my hands back through my hair and continue, "I don't know why I'm having this dreams – I don't know what the hell is happening!" Dean's face calls a little and he gives me an odd frown. "What?"

"Nothing," he answers, shaking his head a little. "I'm just worried about you."

"Well don't look at me like that!" I hate feeling like there's something wrong with me. He's giving me the same look they both did when I was dying and I am certainly not in the same circumstance, so I'm not gonna deal with it.

Dean rolls his eyes at me this time. "I'm not looking at your like anything. But I gotta say – you look like crap."

"Nice, thanks," I reply even while laughing a little.

"You're welcome." Dean throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in closer. "Come on, we can pick this up in the morning. Check out the house and talk to the family."

"Dean, you saw them," Sam notes. "They're devastated. They're not gonna want to talk to us." Way to be a downer.

"Yeah, you're right. But I think I know who they'll talk to." The look on Dean's face does _not_ make me feel good about his idea.

 **…** **Morning…**

I almost forget about the fact that my headache is coming back with new vigor when I see the costumes that Dean has for himself and Sam in the morning. "This is truly disturbing," I inform them. "For the record, I'm standing all the way over here because I'm waiting for the lightning to strike." Dean laughs and Sam gives me a dirty look that only makes me laugh. The motion makes my brain slam around inside my skull and I stop immediately, wincing instead.

"Getting worse?" Sam asks, concerned. He seems much more concerned and less like a jerk this morning. I nod and he notes, "That can't be good."

"You gonna be OK to do this?" Dean checks.

"Of course," I answer firmly, reaching out and snagging the badge he's made for me. I clip it to the lapel of my suit jacket before climbing out of the car by myself. As the plan goes, the guys will follow along in a few minutes. My head continues to pound as I walk down the street toward the Miller's home but I swallow it and compose myself. This is something I've gotten used to; I've had headaches for as long as I could remember.

 _The visions are definitely new, though_.

I physical shake my head in an effort to shake off those thoughts and head for the front door, knocking gently. The family is having a wake this morning and while our timing is not ideal, we don't generally have all the time in the world. It's Mrs. Miller who answers the door. She looks kind of puffy and is holding a balled up tissue so it's easy to see that she's emotional. "Hi, Mrs. Miller," I begin with a small smile that I hope is kind. "I'm sorry to bother you this morning but my name is Courtney Bean. I'm with General Nation Insurance."

"Oh," Mrs. Miller blinks. She nods a little and pulls herself up stand straighter as if I mean something. "The police said you all would want to talk eventually…I didn't assume it would be so quickly."

"We try to be efficient." It's not a lie – we do try for that. It's just not the 'we' she assumes I'm referring to. "I understand that this is a really bad time but I only need a few minutes and then you don't have to worry about this again." Until the real insurance company comes around, of course.

"I understand," she allows kindly. "Come in, please." Mrs. Miller steps back and pull the door open further to allow me inside. People are milling around through the living area and kitchen that I can see from the door. My head throbs hard, and I need a few blinks to steady the world. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately for a moment?" I ask.

Mrs. Miller nods and leads me into a small office under the stairs. It looks to be used more for storage than work. She stops in front of the desk and hugs herself by crossing her arms over her chest, but she's not too distant or standoffish. I don't get much of a vibe at all from her. "Mrs. Miller, did you husband have a history of depression?"

"No, nothing like that. We had our ups and downs, like everyone, but we were happy." Something in her tone makes me think that she _really_ wants me to understand that they were happy which usually means that they weren't. "I just don't understand how Jim could do that," Mrs. Miller adds.

"I'm very sorry that you had to find him like that," I tell her, honestly.

She shakes her head a little and corrects, "Actually, our son – Max – he was the one who found him." I nod, taking that in, and make my brain slam forward so that it crashes against my skull painfully. I'm more than a little grateful when the doorbell rings and Mrs. Miller asks me if she can go.

"Can I use your bathroom before I go?" I ask.

"Yes, of course." She points me upstairs and down the hallway. I really only care about getting upstairs but I thank her anyway. As we reach the door, Mrs. Miller opens it for another friend and I head up the stairwell. My head pounds harder with every step so at the top, I lean against the wall for a little break while pulling an EMF out of my coat pocket. I walk the hallway slowly both for my health and to give the EMF time but it's quiet; there's no activity up here.

I head back down the stairs, motivated only by the fact that my part of this little investigation is over. I can go lay down in the car while the guys do their thing. It's the guys that I find as I come down the stairs, being greeted at the door. I hear Dean say, "Good afternoon. I'm Father Simmons, this is Father Freely. We're new junior priests at Saint Augustine. May we come in?" The man steps aside and I quickly dodge around the side of the stairs, blending in where I can listen.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam offers.

Never one to be outdone, Dean adds, "It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed."

The guy scoffs at him. "Look, you want to pitch your whole 'Lord has a plan' thing, fine. Don't pitch to me. My brother's dead."

"Roger, please." I recognize Mrs. Miller's calm voice. Roger storms past me and I hear Mrs. Miller talking to Sam and Dean now. "Excuse me. I'm sorry about my brother-in-law. He's just so upset by Jim's death." She seems a little brighter when she adds, "It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church mean so much right now."

"Of course," Dean responds. "After all, we are all God's children."

I nearly gag but when I try to roll my eyes, the pain in my head moves toward my eyes and becomes even sharper. I need to get off my feet and soon, but I need to talk to the guys first. I'm grateful when Sam gets rid of Mrs. Miller by asking, "Would you mind terribly if I asked for coffee?"

She agrees of course and hurries off toward the kitchen. I join them in the doorway and press a hand to my forehead, trying to stop my head from just exploding. "The upstairs is clean – no activity, nothing. You'll need to check the garage where they found him," I tell them, speaking quickly but I can hear myself starting to slur. "And one of your needs to talk to Max, the son. He found Jim."

"OK shut up about that," Dean gruffs, waving me off dismissively. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," I lie with a nod. The movement of my head sends the world tumbling and I trip while standing still. They both kind of catch me, each holding an arm. I catch myself and straighten up. "I'm fine," I repeat. "I just need to get off my feet."

"I'll help you to the car," Sam offers, wrapping an around my waist and pulling me up against his side.

"No," I argue, pushing away from him. "You should talk to Max, you're nice."

"I'm not nice?" Dean demands.

"Stop talking, I'm leaving." With that, I'm done. I push them both out of my way and head for the door. Neither of them is dumb enough to stop me so I continue down the street, heading for the car that I know is parked at the end of the block. With every step, my heartbeat pounds loudly and my head throbs painfully. Most of my peripheral vision is dark and the ground is wobbling underneath me.

I keep beginning to have the thought that this is a terrible sign, that my headache is likely the same sign it's always been. I just can't focus for long enough to really press any comprehension together. By the time I reach the car, the first wave of nausea hits. Dean is going to be pissed if I got throw up on the side of his baby but there's only so much I can do about that. The door almost weighs too much to open and once I'm sitting inside, it takes both hands for me to pull it shut.

I'm not sure when exactly I pass out, but my last thought is just how damn happy I am about it.

 **…** **Sometime Later…**

When consciousness starts to bear itself, the first thing I notice is that my head is still hurting. It's relieved some, but it still hurt. My face is rested against something softer than the leather in Dean's car but that smells much, much worse. The Impala smells like Dean – leather and spice. I'm lying on something, somewhere that smells kind of dusty. Like…hotels. I force my eyes open, not thrilled about having to do so, and find myself staring at part of an end table and the other bed.

Dean comes out of the bathroom on the other side of the room, wearing a white towel around his waist. I push myself onto my back and take a breath. "Dean, if you don't want me to throw up again, I'm gonna need you to put more clothes on," I tell him.

"Oh, she lives," he responds. The bed shifts heavily so I know it's Sam who's sat down beside me. I open my eyes again and find him with a concerned expression.

"How you doing?" he asks.

"How did I get back here?"

"We had to carry you from the car," Dean answers, getting dressed somewhere that I can't see him. "If you hadn't been snoring, we might have thought you were dead."

I frown. "I do not snore, dick." Dean laughs and Sam finally cracks a smile. "My head…it still hurts. Something's happening." I hold up a hand and Sam obeys, pulling me to sit up. He motions to the bedside table and I find several Advil and a double shot of whiskey. I throw all of it into the back of my throat and swallow, glad that these guys know something about real cures. "So, what do we have?"

"Well, nothing," Sam admits, getting up and heading back to the table where his laptop is waiting for him. He doesn't like being far from that thing. "Nothing bad has happened to the Miller house since it was built."

"What about the land?" I ask, rubbing my temples with my fingers.

"No graveyards, no battlefields, tribal lands. No other kind of atrocity on or near the property."

"Did you guys get to search the garage?"

"I did," Dean responds. "I searched that house up and down. There were no cold spots, no sulfur."

I take a breath and think aloud, "And the family said everything was normal. If it were a demon or poltergeist, you'd think somebody would have noticed."

"We even used the infrared thermos scanner, Kenzie," Sam offers gently. "There was nothing." I let out a loud sigh and throw myself backward onto the pillow, making myself nauseous again.

"So what? We think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was some soft of freaking coincidence?" I ask aloud. I hate even saying it. My head is trying to kill me and I had to watch a stranger die in my sleep. I'm not a fan believing this is all for nothing.

As if things need to get worse, the pain inside my head suddenly starts to surge. I cover my face with a pillow, trying to block out some of the light that's searing into my eyes. "I don't know," Dean admits. "But I'm pretty sure there's nothing supernatural going on in that house."

I hear Sam stand up and the pain in my skull is getting worse by the moment. "Maybe there's nothing to do with the house," Sam suggests. "Maybe it's more connected to Jim in some other way." Suddenly the room tips to the side violently enough that I need to press my hands to the mattress on either side of me because it feels like I'll be launched onto the floor.

"Mack." Dean calls. "What's wrong with you?"

I only hear him vaguely and I can't respond…the whole world goes dark.

 _*A man in his home…groceries…kitchen…who is that? Roger Miller. Window opens…who opened that window? Roger is confused. Shadows. There's a shadow. Roger goes to look. No. Don't put your head out - *_

When the window in my dream or vision or whatever slams shut and at the exact point of impact, when blood sprays up over the glass, I'm released. It's like being suddenly un-blindfolded dropped out of a sack that you were tied up in. For some reason I'm on the floor now, on my hands and knees. "Kenzie!" Sam shouts. At first he sounds far away but when he repeats it, it's much clearer. I feel his hand on my back.

Dean comes into view in front of me and suddenly rough hands slide over my cheeks and my face is tilted upward so that I'm staring up into green eyes. "Mackenzie Lynne. Can you hear me?"

I manage a nod through the fog and I watch Dean's shoulders sink in relief. "What's going on?" he asks more gently now. "Talk to me Mack."

I have to swallow to get my throat to work but finally I manage, "It's happened again. Something's gonna kill Roger Miller." The guys are moving so quickly then that it's hard for me to keep up. After a few minutes on my feet it becomes pretty clear that I'm not going anywhere and Sam finally tucks me so tightly into the blankets on bed that I can't manage to wiggle out before they disappear out the door.

I fight my way out and can only think to do one thing, so I quickly call Jim. He answers on the second ring and can tell something is wrong when all I've said is 'hi'. "What's wrong honey?"

"Something's happening," I tell him honestly. "This headache is worse than I've ever had it and…I saw…I saw things."

"Things?" he repeats. "Visions?"

I frown even though he can't see me. "Why don't you seem surprised by that?"

"I was going to ask why you do seem surprised," Jim counters. I just blink, confused. "Kenzie…do you not remember the visions when you were a kid?" I almost fall off the bed again from the shock of it. Jim starts to explain about an episode – or a few – when I was four. I'd started at a Pre-K and came home one day to tell Jim that one of the kids was going to die. I even described the color of the family car he died in. That night, the kid died. It happened again with a random accident in town and a woman having a miscarriage – I'd actually seen her unborn child die.

"I don't…I don't remember any of that," I tell him, laying down again. "Even hearing you say it, nothing's coming back."

"You've always had a knack for repression."

"Funny." He chuckles and it does make me feel a little better. "Do you have any idea why? I mean, we thought Sam was the psychic. He saw Jessica and the woman in their old house. He didn't see any of this."

"Different connections for your psychic channels," Jim suggests. "Sam saw things he was directly, emotionally attached to."

"Dean kinda said the same thing," I muse. "But I don't know these people and other then the kid at school, I didn't know those people when I was little either. Why strangers?"

Jim pauses for a few beats. "Kenzie, have you told them everything?" My stomach flops because I know that he's talking about…everything. "It may be for the best; at least they'll be best prepared to support you."

"I don't need support," I grumble.

"It may be relevant to this," he notes. "There are a number of beings known to be psychic or have psychic connections, it's not just humans." I don't love the reminder that I might not be all human. "I think you should open up to them about it. You're a team."

I'm saved from answering him when the door opens behind me. "Let me guess," I begin without looking. "You either didn't get there in time or Roger didn't let you in. Before you could get to him, he stuck his head out of the kitchen window and it slammed shut."

"Head almost complete severed with the force," Dean finishes, confirming for me.

"Hello Sam, Dean," Jim says from the phone.

"Hi Pastor Jim," they respond simultaneously. "Any ideas about what's going on, Jim?" Dean asks. "With Kenzie, I mean, not necessarily the case."

"They have to be connected," I interject. "There has to be something connecting me to them – a reason that I'm watching them die. And these visions or whatever they are? They're getting really intense…painful. Something is happening, there's a reason for this."

Sam sits down beside me and puts an around my shoulders. "We'll figure it out. We face the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing."

I shake my head firmly. "No, it's never been _us._ It's never been in the family." I look up at Sam, then Dean. "Tell the truth. You can't tell me this doesn't freak you out."

"This doesn't freak me out," Dean asserts.

"Me neither."

Jim speaks from the other end of the line. "Kenzie, I'd recommend that you follow my advice, but I'll let you get back to work on your case. Please take care of yourself during the headaches. You two watch her." They promise and we exchange goodbyes before I hang up the call.

"There was nothing in Roger's house and no signs either," Sam tells me. "It was clean, just like the Miller's."

I see a flash through my mind…a shadow. "I saw something in the vision. It was like a dark shape. Something was stalking Roger inside there."

"Whatever it was, I'm sure it's not connected to the house. I think it's connected to the family itself," Dean notes. "Maybe a vengeful spirit?"

I nod and note, "A few of them have been known to latch on to whole families. They'll haunt them for years, basically like a curse."

Sam shrugs. "So maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy. Something curse worth, and now it's out for revenge." He looks down at me. "Do you think maybe you're connected to a spirit like that somehow?"

"I don't see how," I answer honestly. "The orphanage burnt down when I was a kid, and I never found out what happened. Jim got me right after…but unless Jim and Roger burnt down an orphanage in Brazil? It's pretty unlikely."

"You don't remember anything like this happening before?"

"Actually, Jim just told me something that I didn't – don't – remember," I tell them. "Apparently I had a view visions when I was in preschool. Basically just saw people getting hurt, just like now. I didn't have real connections to any of them."

"So your visions are somehow different than mine…I only have them when I'm connected," Sam muses. "It's weird enough that we both have psychic tendencies or whatever but I didn't realize there were different kinds."

The boys are both quiet for a minute and Jim's words ring through my mind. I know that he's right; I should at least be honest with them. "I might not be psychic at all," I admit. "Not in the normal sense." I feel both of their eyes on me but can't manage to look away from a stain on the carpet. "Psychic is an extra human sense or ability. Some…some things are just more sensitive. It's not extra."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Dean asks, looking at me like I've gone nuts. I take a breath and stand, taking a moment to balance myself as the headache swings the world around oddly. Once balanced, I know I need to move quickly or I'll lose my nerve. I turn my back to both guys and unzip my jacket, letting it fall off of my shoulders to expose the scars following the lines of my shoulder blades.

They're both quiet for a moment, my heart pounding with the anxiety of this. "What…what happened?" Sam asks finally. I quickly fix my jacket and sit back down, grabbing a pillow and covering my lap with it.

"Nothing happened," I inform them. "As far as any records we have…they were always there. And as I've gotten bigger, so have they."

Dean blinks before he breathes, "They almost look like they should be – "

"Wings, yeah," I cut him off. "I know. But we have no idea why. Jim spent a ton of time trying to figure it out and…nothing. I don't have any weird things except the scars and the psychic thing."

"OK." Dean stands. He seems a little uncomfortable but nothing of them have called me a freak or a thing yet. "So there is a reason you're having visions now and Sam isn't. That's good."

"The last time was people getting hurt, too," Sam notes. "Maybe that's your thing – you're supposed to stop people from getting hurt."

Dean snaps his fingers and points at me. "That is how we knew something was wrong at Stanford. And remember Andrea and Lucas? We would've been long gone but your head started hurting."

"Maybe repressing the memory of the visions repressed the visions themselves," Sam suggests. "And now that you're listening to the headaches every time, it's getting stronger." He jumps up suddenly. "Hey, I think we have something more important going on. Is it possible that Max is in danger?"

My stomach flops. Jim's son…that would make sense. "I think we need to figure that out before he is."

"How your head?" Dean asks.

"It's pretty OK right now," I tell him honestly. "Just kind of an ache, not bad."

Dean nods firmly and asserts, "OK, then we'll go in the morning. You had a rough day and we promised to look out for you. We'll grab dinner and hit the sack for the night." No one argues and since my head isn't unbearable right now, I'm not anxious about it. It helps that I'm starving and exhausted.

More than anything, I'm grateful. It's the first time anyone other than Jim has seen those scars up close.

 **…** **Dawn…**

I know that it's Sam's hand pushing through my hair and I know that it's not a dream. Warm, soft lips touch my forehead, my eyebrow, my cheek bone, the edge of my lips. Before he pulls back, the smile on my face is uncontrollable. I wiggle forward, pressing myself closer to him so that we're chest to chest. His hand rests comfortably on the middle of my back. I'm conscious of how close he is to the scars but the panic about him touching them is a little less than normal…though it's just a little less.

"Morning," he murmurs when I force my eyes open slowly. I just smile, not ready to talk yet. "How's the headache?" I vaguely remember falling asleep with Sam massaging my temples…that's a good memory.

"It's there but it's not awful." I push a stray hair away from his forehead so that I can see more of his face. "You OK?" He frowns a little, confused by the question. "You were a little weird the last couple days…especially when we first got here."

Sam looks down for just a second and breathes, "Yeah, sorry. I don't know, it all just confused me." He takes a breath before continuing, "I was just coming to terms with my visions being a normality…a – a pattern. Then something else new and weird, it frustrated me. I'd like for things around us to actually make sense for like ten seconds." I laugh softly, appreciating that desire. "Plus I'm worried about you. For a second, in the car, it didn't look like you were breathing. The pain seems really bad."

"It is really bad," I allow. "But it'll be gone when we figure all this out. Just more incentive to do our jobs really well." Sam laughs gently, his chest rumbling softly with the sound and those damn dimples making me smile.

"If you're going to wake me up talking, you have to buy me pancakes," Dean grumbles, sounding like he's buried his face in his pillow. I laugh and it earns me a pillow to the back of the head, thrown from the other side of the room. It only makes Sam laugh too and now we're all definitely awake.

My headache is better this morning so I feel pretty optimistic about the day by the time we finish breakfast at a local diner and head for Jim Miller's house. I'm in my suit again and the boys are in their cloths. We're planning on explaining it as coincidence that we arrive together and hope that it's believable. I'm going to tell Mrs. Miller I never had a chance to talk to Max and need to complete the investigation. It's Max who answers the front door, though.

"Hey, Max, do you remember me?" Sam asks kindly. Max is a very thin kid with messy red hair. He's fidgety and his eyes kind of bounce back and forth between us a little too quickly. The vice grip on my head is starting to tighten again…this damn house.

We feed him our stories and Max has no problem letting all of us in. "My mom's resting," he explains. The house is empty this time as Max leads us into the living room. "She's pretty beat."

"Of course."

Max gives a short, uncomfortable laugh. "All these people kept coming with like casseroles. I finally had to tell them all to go away." Sam elbows Dean when he looks toward the kitchen, definitely wondering if there's food available even though he just had 6 pancakes.

"Yeah, cause nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a tuna casserole," I offer, trying to emphasize with the kid. He works because he seems surprised but gives a small smile and nods a little. I take the opportunity. "How are you holding up, Max?"

Max looks away and sits down in one of the chairs in the living room. I sit in the other while the boys take the couch. "Your dad and your uncle were close?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, I guess." He doesn't really want to talk about them. I imagine it's because they both just died so unexpectedly. "They were brothers. They hung out when I was little."

"But not anymore?"

"Not, it's not that. We used to be neighbors when I was a kid," Max explains. He still isn't making any eye contact. "We lived across town in one house and Uncle Roger lived next door so he was over all the time."

 _A second house? Maybe the activity started there._

Dean has reached the same thought because he asks. "So how was it in that house when you were a kid?"

Instantly Max fidgets. He turns his body toward the window, away from us, like he's trying to get out of the conversation physically. "It was fine," he lies. "Why?"

"All good memories?" Dean asks.

"You remember anything unusual?" I ask, hoping to be a little clearer. "Something involved your father and uncle, maybe?"

Max nearly jumps out of the seat down as he turns in the other direction, biting his fingernails while his feet bounce anxiously on the floor. "W-Why do you…why do you ask?" He sounds almost hostile at the question.

"It's just a question," I assure him with a casual shrug, pretending not to notice his behavior. I know the guys have noticed too.

"No, there was nothing." He's a little too insistent. "We were totally normal. Happy. Good."

I offer him a smile, "That's good." Max immediately looks away, across the room. I glance over at the guys and they both nod.

"Well you must be exhausted," Sam notes. "We should take off."

"I'll leave you as well – I'll call your mom with anything else." Max nods but it feels like he can't get us out of the house fast enough. Honestly, I can't leave fast enough as my eyes are beginning to throb with the headache.

As soon as we reach the sidewalk I tell them, "That house makes my head hurt."

"So there's that and nobody's family is totally normal and happy," Dean chimes in.

"Did you see the way he was acting when he was talking about his old house?" Sam asks as we reach the car. "He sounded scared."

I take a breath, pressing a hand to my forehead, and breathe, "Max isn't telling us everything. We should go find that old neighborhood." The search doesn't take long and within an hour, we've changed and are parked out front of the house Max Miller grew up in. There aren't many people around but directly across the street, an older gentlemen is raking his lawn.

Dean leads us over and greets the guy pleasantly. "Excuse me, sir? Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?"

He smiles and answers, "Yeah, almost twenty years now. It's a good area. Are you looking to buy?"

"No, no, actually we were just wondering if you might recall a family that used to live around here? Right across the street, I believe?" Sam points toward the Miller's old house.

"Yeah, the Millers," he recalls immediately. "They had a little boy named Max."

"That's right," I affirm."

He continues, "Yeah, I remember. Their brother had the place next door." He points to the slightly small green house just beside the original. "What's this about? Is that poor kid OK?"

The question throws all of us off. Dean recovers first and asks, "What do you mean?"

The man is frowning deeply now and I know that he's being earnest. "In all my life, I've never seen a child treated like that. I mean, I'd hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street."

 _Well that certainly wouldn't make for happy memories_.

"He was a mean drunk," the man helping us almost snaps. "He used to beat the tar out of Max. Always had bruises, broke his arm two times that I know of."

"And this was going on regularly?" Sam clarifies."

"Practically every day. And that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy." The man shakes his head sadly. "But the worst part of his step mother. She's just stand there, checked out. Never lifted a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or either times – never did any good."

I cock my head a little and ask, "Did you say step mother?"

He nods. "I think his real mom died…some sort of accident. Car, I think." The surge hits me suddenly this time and I'm knocked forward by it. The world tips around me and I feel hands on me but can't decide whose they are. "Are you OK there?" the man asks.

I can't answer…I can't see…

 _*Max…he's angry – so, so angry. With her? His stepmom? The knife…how is the knife spinning. No. It's Max! NO!*_

The vision clears just as soon as it happens and I hear myself gasping as it comes clear. Somehow I'm back near the car, Sam and Dean's faces both in front of mine. "Max is doing it," I choke out, my heart already pounding. "Everything. All of it."

Sam and Dean exchange panicked glances and then we all move, hurrying into the car. My headache is substantially lessening but now I'm confused. "You're sure about this?" Dean asks, looking at me through the rearview.

"Yes, I saw him," I answer. "He's going after his step-mom next." We haven't made it in time for the last two visions. I can't let someone else die on my watch – literally.

"How's he pulling it off?"

"It looked like telekinesis," I answer. "I'm pretty sure he's psychic." I take a breath and lean against the seats behind me. "I didn't even realize it but this whole time, he was there. He was outside of the garage when his dad died, he was in the apartment when his uncle died. The visions…this whole time, I wasn't connecting to the Miller's. I was connecting to Max."

"The thing that doesn't make sense is why," Dean notes.

"I mean…maybe he's kind of like us," Sam suggests softly.

I don't lift my head but I hear Dean ask, "What are you talking about. Dude's nothing like either of you."

"Well, we all have psychic abilities."

"Sam, Max is a monster," Dean argues. "He's already kissed two people, now he's going for a third."

I shake my head and chime in, "With all the things he went through…the beatings? To want revenge on those people…."

"It really doesn't seem all that insane," Sam finishes for me. "Look at what Jessica's death made me do. I've been out for revenge this whole time."

"I was this kind of angry as a kid," I admit. "I get it."

"Fine, but doesn't justify murdering your entire family," Dean says firmly. "He is no different than anything else we've hunted. We've got to end it."

"We are not going to kill Max," I tell him firmly. Sam is definitely on my side, looking at his brother as if he's totally lost his mind.

Dean throws his hands up. "Then what? We'll hand him over to the cops and say 'lock him up officer – he kills with the power of his mind'."

"You can forget it," Sam says. "No way man."

"Sammy – "

"Dean, he is a person," I remind him. "We can talk to him." Dean just stares at the road now, gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. "Dean. I need my lead on this one. Promise me."

"Fine," he agrees, voice lowered but not more calm. "But I am not letting him hurt anyone else." I'm grateful that we've reached the Miller's house and even more grateful that there are no cop cars or ambulances already here. This might be the first time I get here on time to stop Max, and I'm not wasting it. The pain is my head is nearly gone – because I've found the source – and I start running into the house ahead of the guys. I don't care about a cover.

I head for the kitchen door and open it without knocking or receiving any welcome. Both Mrs. Miller and Max are there, exactly the way I saw them, and I hear a knife clatter like it's suddenly stopped spinning. "What are you – " Mrs. Miller begins. She becomes even more confused when I hear Sam and Dean come in behind me. "Fathers? What are you all doing?"

"Listen, Mrs. Miller, we're sorry to interrupt and this is hard to explain," Sam tries. "But…Max? Can we talk to you? Outside? Just for one second."

"About what?"

"Max…it's kind of private," I tell him. I know he can't understand. "We wouldn't want to bother your mother with it."

"What?" Max demands. I watch his eyes flash toward Dean and go wide. I follow his gaze and find that the handle of Dean's gun is visible under his jacket.

"No!" I shout but it's too late. The gun leaves Dean's waistband, flies clear across the kitchen, and ends up right in Max's shaking hand. He immediately points it at Dean.

"Max!" Mrs. Miller screams. "What's happening?

He turns the gun on her. "Shut up!" he shouts. His whole body is shaking violently.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

"Shut up!" he repeats, even louder.

I take a slow step toward him, both of my hands up. "Max, calm down."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Friends," Sam answers. "We just want to talk to you." Max scoffs and motions to the gun. "OK, that was a mistake Max and so was lying about who we were. But no more lying Max. OK? Just…just please, hear us out. "

"About what?" Max is sweating and his eyes are starting to tear up. This is escalating way too quickly and I need to knock him down a notch.

"I saw you do it," I inform him, keeping my voice calm and free of accusations. "I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened. I'm having visions about you, Max."

"You're crazy!" he screams, turning his gun on me.

"So, you weren't gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?" I demand. "In this room, right at her eye." Max gapes at me and Mrs. Miller moves toward us quickly, freaking out at least a little. "Isn't is really that hard to believe? Max, look what you can do!" I point to the counter where the butcher knife is now standing straight up all on its own. "It's not you and me. Sam, he has abilities too. You're not alone and I think I was drawn here. I think…I think we're here to help you."

I might be desperate but I'm also being honest. Max is like Sam and I. He doesn't have to end up any different than us.

"No one can help me."

"Let me try. We'll just talk – just us. We get Dean, Sam, and your mom outta here."

"No," I hear both Sam and Dean snap from behind me. Max agrees with them and tells me firmly, "No, nobody leaves this house."

"They don't have to. They'll…" I'm thinking as fast as I can. "They can just go upstairs." We need to prevent Max from taking a shot at his mom and I think some distance between them will help our case.

A hand takes my arm and Sam jerks me backward. "Kenz, I am not leaving you alone with him!"

"Yes, you are," I tell him firmly.

"You said he had visions, too?" Max asks, pointing at Sam. We both nod and I can tell he's thinking of letting Sam stay. Maybe he has some curiosity about us being connected. We can definitely use that.

"Look, Max, you're in charge here," I remind him. "We all know that. No one is gonna do anything you don't want to do. But I'm talking give minutes."

"Mack!"

"Five minutes?" Max checks. I nod. "You two can stay, he takes her upstairs. Only upstairs."

"You can watch them walk up there," I offer motioning toward the living room. Dean obeys and starts to walk up the stairs behind Mrs. Miller but doesn't miss the opportunity to shoot daggers at me. If this works, he'll forgive me. If I die, he'll get over it. Sam's not going to die so that's not a consideration. I just have to make sure I don't either and Dean will get over it.

Max sits down in one of the chairs in the living room. This time, I sit behind Sam on the couch. "Look, Max, we can't begin to understand what you went through," Sam says.

"That's right you can't," he snaps.

 _Fine_.

"Max, this has to stop," I tell him firmly.

"It will. After my stepmother."

"No, you need to let her go."

"Why?"

Sam leans forward and asks, "Did she beat you?"

"No, but she never tried to save me!" Max shouts. "She's a part of it, too."

"Max what they did to you, what they all did to you growing up…they deserve to be punished," Sam says softly.

"Growing up?" Max interrupts. "Try last week." I sit back hard like he'd smacked me in the face. "My dad still hits me, just in places people won't see. Old habits die hard, I guess."

I shake my head a little and say the only thing I can: "I'm sorry."

"When I found out I could move things," Max continues. He's smirking softly now, gazing at a knife that's know spinning quickly on the coffee table between us. He brought it from the kitchen as well as the gun. "It was a gift. My whole life was helpless, but now I have this. So…last week Dad gets drunk – first time in a long time."

 _I feel like I might throw up_.

"And he beats me to hell – first time in a long time. And he beats me to hell." Now he outright smiles. "It's the first time in a long time…and I did what I had to do."

"Why did you just leave?" I ask. He's an adult now at least.

"It isn't about getting away," Max tells me, looking at me now. "I'd always know they were still out there. It was about not being afraid." Max swallows. "When my dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?"

I shake my head and beside me Sam breathes, "No."

"He blamed me for everything," he tells us, slamming a fist down onto the arm of the chair. The knife clatters down. "For his job, for his life, for my mom's death!"

"Wait, why did he blame you for mom's death?" Sam asks immediately, maybe a little too eagerly.

"Because she died in my nursery while I was asleep in my crib." Sam's back goes stiff and he instinctively reaches for my hand, where it rests on the couch between us. He squeezes it so hard that it hurts but I don't dare pull away.

Max doesn't notice and continues, "As if that's my fault!"

"You're certain that she died in your nursery?" I clarify.

"Yeah," he nods. "There was a fire and he'd get drunk and blab like she died in some insane way. He said that she burned up, pinned to the ceiling."

Sam looks at me with an expression almost like he wants permission. I nod a little and he's off immediately. "Listen to me Max. What you dad said about what happened to your mom? It's real."

"What?"

"It happened to my mom, too. Exactly the same – my nursery, my crib. My dad saw her on the ceiling."

Max shakes his head. "Your dad must have been as drunk as mine."

"No, no Max, it's the same thing," Sam insists. "The same thing killed our mothers." Sam turns to me again and notes, "Maybe that's what you're having these visions about Max. He's connected to _me_ and you've already had to save me once."

I nod slowly and mutter, "It might be why they're getting more intense. Max…you really are connected to us in some way. Your abilities. They started six, seven months ago right? Out of the blue?"

"How'd you know that?" Max demands.

"Because that's when Sam's abilities started and when mine got…weirder. Yours are much further along though." Max is downright powerful while Sam is only having visions about people he's close to and I can't control my headaches.

"This has to mean something, right?" Sam asks, looking back and forth between both me and Max. He's more than a little too excited about this. "I mean, for some reason, we…we're special."

I ignore him and lean forward. "Max. Sam and Dean are my family, and we're hutnign for your mom's killer – for their mom's killer. We can find answers, answers that can help up both. But you have to let all of us go, Max."

He's on his feet suddenly, pacing, and my anxiety skyrockets. "No. I still have nightmares about what they did to me. I'm scared all the time, like I'm waiting for that next beating. I'm just tired of being scared! If I do this, it'll all be over."

"No, do you get it?" I ask, standing as well. "It won't. The nightmares won't end, Max, not like this. There's just more pain and it makes you as bad as them. Max, you don't have to go this all by yourself."

Max hesitates and is staring down at his shoes. He looks up slowly and says, "I'm sorry." I expect him to move but I forget that he doesn't need to. I hear a thud behind me and spin around to find Sam's been knocked out cold by a lamp post.

I lift my fists and turn, fully prepared to do some serious damage to Max. Before I can turn all the way around, my feet are off the ground. I hit a wall with my back and then instantly, it's dark around me.

 _Bastard shut me in a closet!_

I run at the door but the doors aren't moving. I can tell from the shadow that Max has moved something big in front of the door. "Max, no!" I shout, listening to his feet over me. He's heading up the stairs after Dean. "Max!"

This is bad. I know Dean. He's going to run his mouth or go after Max to stop him and end up getting killed. Max is going after Dean and he can't fight a psychic on the edge. Max is going to kill Dean and I'm trapped inside this damn closet.

 _I have to get out of the closet. I have to save Dean. I have to –_

When whatever is in front of the door moves and crashes to the floor, I'm so surprised that it actually makes me jump. I shove the doors open and run up the stairs with no time to think about how that happened…I'm not sure I want to know anyway. Only one door in the upstairs hallway is closed so I get a well-placed kick and it flies open.

The scene inside is enough to kills me. Dean has put himself right in between Max and his stepmom and Max has the gun leveled directly at Dean's head. "No, don't!" I shout. "Don't, please! Please…Max! Max!" I repeat louder. He finally glances toward me. "Max, we can help you. But this…what you're doing? It's not the solution. Max, this isn't going to fix anything."

Max is quiet for a long moment, tears streaking down his cheeks. I can see Dean's chest rising and falling rapidly and my heart is pounding so hard that it's almost deafening. "You're right," he mutters.

Max lets go of the gun but it keeps floating between he and Dean. Slowly, the gun rotates until the barrel is facing Max. "No, no Max." I watch him close his eyes and then follow suit before the bang rings out. I turn my back…I don't see him dead. I've seen enough people dead at the hands of Max Miller.

 **…** **Later…**

Mrs. Miller is fine lying to the cops. She's clearly shaken but she doesn't mind telling then that Max showed up with a gun she's never seen before, threatened her, and then shot himself. "What about these two?" the cop who has asked us to wait asks her.

"Their family friends," she answers easily. "I called them as soon as Max arrived. I was scared. They tried to stop him." She lets out another sob and the cop with her pats her shoulder. He nods to our cop that we can go.

"We'll give you a call with any further questions."

I can feel my feet moving and I know Sam's arm is around my shoulder…but I feel pretty numb other than that. "You OK?" Sam asks me softly.

"If I could have just said something else," I breathe, thinking aloud. "Gotten him through it somehow."

"Mack don't do that," Dean advises, opening the door for me to get him.

"Do what?"

He waves a hand at me and says, "Told you-yourself."

"He's right," Sam agrees. "We said everything we could have, it wouldn't have mattered. Max was too far gone."

I shake my head slowly and look away from them. "When I think about how he looked at me…I should have done something."

"Kenzie you risked your life!"

Dean frowns at me and notes, "We would had to have gotten there twenty years ago." I look up at his honest, clear green eyes. He's right. All of this started with Max long before we got there. All I can hope for now is that he's alright. I nod and offer them a smile before getting into the backseat. Sam gets in next to me and Dean climbs behind the wheel.

"I'll tell you one thing," Sam begins. "We're lucky we had dad."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Dean notes. I laugh because he's right and then laugh again because it's no nice to do that without the searing pain in my head.

"Seriously," Sam insists. "He could have gone a different way after more. A little more tequila a little less demon hunting? We could have had Max's childhood."

I nod and note, "Yeah, we'll all thinks considered…I think you two turned out OK."

Dean scoffs. "All things considered," he mutters. Sam wraps both of his strong arms around my shoulders and pulls me against him. I smile and don't resist, leaning into him and inhaling his scent deeply. "You know where we need to go? Vegas! You two in my pocket; we can clean up at a craps table!"

I laugh and after a hesitation, so does Sam. I love the sound and I close my eyes, pulling my feet up onto the bench seats beside me. I don't know about Vegas and I don't understand the whole psychic thing.

What I do know is that I have an advantage that Max didn't. I have a guy who might be a little temperamental and drives the car that he obsesses over like a maniac. That guy would go to the ends of the earth for me. In Dean's green eyes, I know how important he thinks I am. I have another guy who's too tall for his own good and believes in a life other that this one. He sees a future and I know in that sincerity he shows at all times that he sees me in that future; nothing's going to stop him from fighting for it.

As long I have these boys – my boys – I'm not Max. I'm not like him. I might be different and weird but I'm safe, cared for…loved.

Nothing bad is going to happen to me as long as these two are around.


	16. 1x15: Only Human

Chapter 15

Just Human

"These burgers are delicious," Dean enthuses with his mouth so full of half-chewed food that I'm sure anyone less acquainted with him would have trouble understanding. I know what's he's saying though and I certainly know why.

"They really are," I agree, taking another bite of my own.

"They're OK," Sam notes with a firm nod.

Dean scowls at him as if he'd just insulted a national treasure. "You just shut up over there with your sinful veggie burger."

"Yes, it's definitely more sinful to take care of my heart than to chew on butchered cow and fat pieces," Sam retorts.

"Delicious butchered cow and fat pieces," I respond, beaming at him now that I've smiled. Dean laughs and lifts his hand for a high five with I gladly give back. Sam just shakes his head at us, but he's smiling. Under the table, he links his leg around mine and tucks it closer to him. I don't resist; he's adorable, even if his taste in food is concerning.

"So did the kid actually see the Jenkins guy get taken?"

Dean nods and this time he swallows the bite of food in his mouth before speaking. "Yeah, he was looking out the window and says it grabbed him, pulled him under the car."

"The mom wasn't happy about us poking around," Sam notes. "She thinks he has a wild imagination…this still might not be our thing."

"Local LEOs didn't rule out foul play though," I remind him. "They said there was a sign of a struggle."

"And the kid said that he heard a noise," Dean chimes in, raising his eyebrows. "He called it a whining growl." I frown a little because that's odd. I can't think of any noises I'd describe like that off hand.

Sam just scoffs. "Dean, tell her what the kid was watching when he heard the monster noise." Dean blinks at him and Sam encourages, "Tell her."

Dean gives me a look, reaching his eyes toward the ceiling, and says, "Godzilla versus Mothra." I get an instant flashback of watching that movie at least a dozen times with Dean when I was little, when John dropped the boys off once or twice. I can't help a smile.

"That's my favorite Godzilla movie," I admit. "It's so much better than the original."

"Totally," Dean agrees. He motions toward Sam and tells me, "He likes the remake." I scoff and turn to Sam to give him my most disapproving look. He rolls those pretty eyes of his but laughs at all of us.

"Anyway, we don't need to talk about the case to know it's our kind of thing," I tell him, reaching into my book bag which hangs off of my chair. I pull out John Winchester's journal – a thing that has become my bible – and flip open to a page I've already intentionally marked. "Your dad marked this area," I inform them, turning the page for the guys to see. "Possible hunting ground of a phantom attacker."

"Why would he even do that?" Sam asks, pulling the book toward him even though it prevents Dean from being able to read it. Dean doesn't seem to mind, going back to his burger already.

"He found a lot of local folk lore about a dog figure that comes out at night, grabs people, then vanishes," I explain. I pull out another piece of paper from my bag and tell them, "He found this, too. This county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state."

Dean, frowning and chewing, mumbles, "That is weird." I nod to agree.

"Don't phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds?" Sam notes. "Jenkins was taken from a parking lot."

I shrug. "There are all kinds, some take people anytime and anywhere." I shake my head a little and admit, "Look, I don't know if this is our kind of thing either."

"No, I think you're right," Sam offers. "We should ask around more tomorrow." He takes a breath and starts to stand. "I saw a motel about five miles back."

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Dean protests, putting his hands up. "Let's have another round!"

"We should get an early start."

Dean makes a face at me and teases, "Your Grandma here really knows how to have fun, doesn't he?" I laugh while Sam puts on his best bitch face and Dean sighs. "Fine. I'm gonna take a leak and I'll meet you guys outside."

"I'll get the tab," I offer, also standing. Dean disappears and Sam reaches around me to snag my bag. I use the opportunity while our faces our so close together to lean up on my toes and catch his lips. Soft, warm, and welcoming like always. Sam doesn't hesitate to reciprocate. "Tell Dean to get his own room at that motel," I suggest softly.

"Now there's an order I'll take," Sam quips, smirking at me in that way he has. I wink before ducking under his arm and headed for the bar so that I can pay our tab. After a minute, I see Sam and Dean leave out of the corner of my eye. It takes the waitress a few minutes to deal with our tab but I don't mind waiting.

I'm in a good mood. We've had a good night – good food, laughing, and we've got a case. I might be going back to some skuzzy motel, but I'm going back to be in the arms of a guy who looks like Sam Winchester and happens to be pretty great. It's been a good night and I'm hoping that's a good sign for starting this care. "Here ya go darling," the waitress says, bringing my card – well, kind of my card – and a receipt. I offer her a smile and head out.

It occurs to me that smiling at her seems a lot more natural that it would have a few months ago. I've spent most of my life alone and happy about it. I hated being touched, being forced into social situations, even being talked to. Now? I'm almost normal.

Outside, the parking lot is quiet. Last call isn't for a few minutes so everyone is still inside, hanging onto the last bits of their liquor. The Impala is waiting where we parked it and I head over leisurely. So what if the guys have to wait for a minute longer – the weather is nice. It's not until I get within a few feet that I realize something is missing…there are no tall shadows inside, the radio isn't playing, and the engine isn't running. My stomach plummets. "Dean!" I shout, spinning around and waiting for them to appear from somewhere – anywhere. "Sam! Dean!" Nothing. No one.

 _They're gone_.

 **…** **Next Morning…**

I can't remember a worse night. And I officially hate drunk people. No one at the bar was the least bit useful and despite being out in the dark for hours, I came up with nothing. There was no EMF activity, no sulfur, no weird tracks…nothing. A middle of the night and near-tears call to Jim almost led to him driving to me right then until I agreed on his plan. So in the morning, I'm dressed in my agent suit and equipped with a fake State Police badge, headed into a local police station.

I need help.

The cop behind the desk a woman. She looks maybe mid-thirties but since she's a cop, I assume she's probably only late twenties and just really stressed out all the time. She's pretty – Dean would totally hit on her. The thought makes my stomach lurch so I swallow it down and wait calmly. "You barely look old enough to be out of high school. So what can we do for you Officer Washington?" she asks, handing my badge back after examining it.

"I'm working a missing person's case." It's one of the few times I've been honest with a police officer.

She frowns at me a little. "I didn't know the Jenkins case was being covered by the State Police?"

"Uh, no – no. It's someone else," I correct her quickly. "Actually…it's my cousin. We were having a few at this bar down by the highway and I haven't seen him since." I worked out this story with Jim, because we definitely can't mention one of the Winchester brothers.

"Does he have a drinking problem?"

I laugh. "Sam? Two beers and he's doing karaoke." The joke only hurts…spending last night alone was awful. "No, he wasn't drunk."

"Alright." She nods like she might believe me and turns to the computer, clicking a few times. "What's his name?"

"Winchester," I answer. "Sam Winchester."

"Like the rifle?"

"Like the rifle," I confirm, nodding a little. The first gun John Winchester ever helped me shoot was a Winchester. I'll never forget the way he smiled and winked at me about that little bit of irony. I thought John was so much fun…I called him three times last night with no answer. Fun isn't the way I'd describe him this morning.

I blink and focus while she types. "Winchester, Sam. OK Samuel Winchester." She gives me a look. "So you know that his brother Dean Winchester died in St. Louis and was suspected in a murder?"

"Yeah, Dean is…kind of the black sheep of the family."

She gazes at the screen for a beat longer. "He's handsome, though."

I laugh, easily. "Yeah, just ask him." I balk, realizing he's supposed to have been dead for months. "Well…you could have…before."

 _Christ, I'm awkward._

"Well, Sam isn't showing up in any current field reports," she tells me gently.

"I already have a lead. I saw a surveillance camera above the highway – county traffic cams, right?" She nods. "I'm thinking the camera picked up whatever took him…I mean, whoever, of course."

 _This is why I don't work alone…how the hell do the guys even deal with me?_ My social skills are totally lacking. I'd really like to just bang this woman's face against the counter, knock her co-workers out cold, and do all this by myself. Thoughts like that are why schools kept throwing me out. I have to work this the way I'd work it with Sam and Dean, not work it like I'm panicking about them.

"Well I have access to the traffic cam footage down at the county works department," she tells him, a small and kind smile on her face. I start to feel optimistic until I see that she's headed for a stack of paperwork. "But let me have you do this the right way. Why don't you fill out a missing person's report and sit tight."

I do not have that kind of time and I'm certainly not about to let someone else to manage this case. "Officer, please. Look, he's family." I swallow, because I need to convince her but I need to say the right thing. I don't want her to get the hint of romance…so I think of Dean. "He's always…he looks for me, OK? You have to let me go with you."

"I'm sorry but I cannot do that."

"Well then tell me something," I challenge, leaning on the counter. "Your county has a fair share of missing persons. Any of them come back?" I watch her face start to pale. The way she looks away from me quickly makes me feel sick. "Sam is my responsibility and he is coming back. I am bringing him back."

 _I will not stop until I bring both of them back_.

 **…** **2 Hours Later…**

I step back from the screen after only half an hour. My eyes are tired and my brain is completely strained, both with lack of sleep and emotional stress. Fortunately, Officer Torre is on her game. "Alex, I think we've got something," she calls to me. I hurry back as she explains, "These traffic cams take an image every three seconds as part of the Amber Alert program. All of these images were taken around the time your cousin Sam disappeared."

The images she's showing me around from the parking lot where the bar would be off to the left of the screen. It's just cars, moving in and out of the lot. I try not to be frustrated. "This really isn't want I'm looking for more."

"No, just wait. Wait," she assures me. "Next one. This was taken right after Sam left the bar." I watch the screen as a rusty old van rolls into the parking lot and then back out within less than two minutes. "Look at the back of that thing," she advises, pointing at the screen. It's got double doors in the back, dented and rusted just like the rest of the thing.

Except for one piece. "That license plate looks brand new. It's gotta be stolen." I feel my heart thump awkwardly with an instant flare of rage. "So whoever's driving that rust bucket must be involved."

Office Torre nods and pushes a button to allow the video to keep playing. As the truck moves, it makes a terrible sound. The engine must be rusted, too…but that sound is pretty specific. "You hear that engine?" I ask. "Does that sound like kind of a whining growl to you?"

"Sure, I guess," she allows, giving me a weird look.

I stare at the screen for a beat longer, my heart pounding harder as I get angrier and angrier. When the van drives onto the hallway, I know Sam and Dean are in the back of it. I know that I'm looking at whatever took them. "Son of a bitch."

 **…** **Afternoon…**

Officer Torre is being surprisingly helpful. She's starting to make me hate cops a lot less, though I still hate tiny little cop car sedans. I should have make her take the Impala with me but I know it's important for her to be in charge. Cops are all about rules…Dean is so much better at this than I am.

"OK the next traffic cam is fifty miles from here," Office Torre says, dragging me from thoughts I don't want to have right now anyway. "And your van never passed that one."

I nod and finish, "So it must have pulled off somewhere around here. Are there any other roads?"

"Not technically but a lot of these backwoods properties have their own private roads." Great. So the thing that took Sam and Dean high-jacked some poor family's house. I don't want to think about what it did to them.

Officer Torre glances down at the computer screen that's facing her after it makes a small pinging sound. I can sense her shoulders tensing and my stomach knots, fearful about the kind of report she might be getting. "So, Alex."

"Yeah?"

"I ran your badge number." My blood runs cold immediately.

 _Shit_.

"It's routine when working a case with State Police," she explains even though she doesn't need to. I know what's happening. "They just got back to me." She turns the computer around on it's stand so that we can both see the screen. "Says here your badge was stolen and there's a picture of you."

The real Officer Alex Washington of the West Virginia State Police is a large black man. There's certainly no mistaking that I am not that person. I swallow and ask, "Would you believe that I've had some work done?"

The look on her face in response tells me that I've spent way too much time with a certain snarky Winchester and I should have started with an apology. Officer Torre jerks her car to the side of the road. "Would you step of out of the car please?"

My heart nearly stalls and I feel panic starting to rise inside my chest. I can't stop now. "Look, look, look," I plead, putting my hands up in front of me. "If you want to arrest me, that's fine. I'll cooperate, I swear. But first, _please_ let me find Sam."

"I don't even know who you are! Or of this Sam person is actually missing."

"Look at me," I tell her firmly. "Look into my eyes and tell me if I'm lying about this." She complies and spends a long couple of beats looking at me. I'm sure my eyes are bloodshot and I look exhausted, but it's more than that. I've done this long enough to know that when someone is desperate, you can see it. Sam and Dean are missing. Desperate is exactly the way I feel right now.

Officer Torre shakes her head and looks away from me. "Identify theft," she notes. "And you're impersonating an officer."

I sigh and push my head back against the seat, looking up at the ceiling to try and calm down. The urge to just take her out is back but I know that's wrong. I take a breath to gather myself. "Here's the thing," I begin. "A little while back…I was nearly dead. And the Winchester boys saved my life – they put their own at risk."

 _I'll never get the image of Dean being choked by a reaper out of my head._

"Ever since, I've felt responsible…for Sam," I add, remembering that Dean is supposed to be a dead murder suspect. "You know, like it's up to me to keep him safe. I'm just afraid that if we don't find him fast…" I trail off when my voice cracks. I'm not ready to discuss those fears out loud yet. I turn to her and say softly, "Please. He's my family."

Officer Torre doesn't look at me now. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "You've given me no choice and I have to take you in…right after we find Sam Winchester." I exhale hard, relief flooding me for just a moment. "But you tell me your real name."

I hold out a hand and tell her, "Mackenzie Murphy. Kenzie." She nods and accepts my hand for a brief shake. She's still tense but stays true to her word and pulls the car back onto the road. I consider being grateful and keeping my mouth shut, but something is going on here. No normal cop just lets this go and I'm just too much of a hunter to pretend I don't know anything.

I take a breath and clear my throat, trying to toe the line. "Look, I'm gonna press my luck."

She laughs in a humorless way and replies, "Oh, your luck is so pressed."

"Fair enough," I allow. I am grateful that she's still helping me, but I can't help being curious, too. "I can't help wondering why you're helping me out. Why don't you just lock me up?" Officer Torre isn't a personal friend – she doesn't know me at all. What she does know is that I've lied and broken several laws at least. Instead of locking me up, she's helping me and I didn't even have Sam's puppy dog eyes to make her powerless. I know something else is going on her and the way her face falls signals that I'm right.

"My brother Riley disappeared three years ago," she informs me softly. "A lot like Sam. We searched for him but…nothing." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I know what it's like to feel responsible for someone and for them – " She cuts herself off and I know exactly the kind of pain she's feeling.

"I'm sorry," I tell her honestly.

She nods and seems to appreciate that but I can tell she's not interested in talking about it any longer. "Let's keep at this."

I agree completely and look through the windshield again, finding nothing but more road in front of us and trees on either side. Until there aren't any trees. "Wait, wait – pull over! Look, here. It's the first turn off I've seen so far."

Officer Torre quickly turns down the small path. She drives slowly just for twenty yards or so. It clears up in front of us and at the end of the dirt road, I can just make out a house. We've definitely found something. "You stay here," she directs, climbing out of the car. "I'll check it out."

"Yeah, that's not happening," I argue, throwing my own door open and quickly moving around to block her path.

She looks at me like I've totally lost it. "You're a civilian and I'm pretty sure a felon, too! I'm not taking you with me."

"You're not going without me." I cross my arms over my chest to make my point, my challenge clear. If we're close to finding Sam and Dean, I need to help. There's no way that she's going to be able to handle a monster who took down two hunters all on her own – and not just any hunters either.

"Alright," she agrees finally. "You promise that you won't get involved? You'll let me handle it."

 _Not a chance._

"Yeah, I promise."

Torre holds a hand out to me and says, "Shake on it." That seems like a fair arrangement and not one I'll be sad about breaking. I extend my own hand and clasp it around hers. Instantly, her grip tightens and before I can react she's caught my wrist with a cold metal handcuff.

"Oh, come on!" I groan, annoyed immediately. She jerks me forward at the risk and fixed the other cuff around the handle to the back door of the car. "This is ridiculous," I protest, tugging as she walks away. "Katherine! I really think you're gonna need my help."

"I'll manage, thank you," she responds without looking back at me, dismissing my words with a wave.

 _Shit_. I yank hard on the cuffs but I'm stuck here. _Shit_. I cannot let her go off by herself to face something she isn't even aware exists – something I haven't identified yet. This whole thing is just slipping through my fingers; I lost Sam and Dean, I don't know what took them, I got caught and handcuffed, and now someone is coming.

My brain thinks that last bit before I register it but I realize immediately after that it's true; I can hear footsteps. They're probably thirty yards off, coming through the trees but not from the direction of the road. And it's definitely two different footsteps coming at me. "I have got to start carrying paper clips," I mutter to myself.

There's an antenna on the top of the car, but my arms are way too short to reach it and I don't have leverage. Plus, I don't know whose coming and I don't want them to see me until I figure it out. I need something else to undo the cuffs. "I've never seen him so angry before," a male voices begins from behind me.

They're getting closer and I have got to get the hell out of here before they get closer enough to see the car.

"We've never been followed by the police before," another male voice responds. Police. They already know we're onto them – they're waiting for Katherine. I push my hand back through my hair in frustration…my hair is down. If my hair is done…I reach up and find the bobby pin tucked in behind my ear.

The cuffs are off in seconds and I start, leaving the cuff hanging from the door. I'm not interested in cleaning up right now; what I need to do is find my Winchesters and get them and that damn cop the hell out of here. I stop, low, in the grass that someone hasn't cut in a very long time. There's a house that might have been nice at some point but it's pretty run down now. Someone is inside the house already and as I wait, the two men I'd hear talking start jogging up the path – probably to tattle about the cop car waiting.

Men. Those were men…just men. People did this.

 _Oh, heads are gonna roll when Dean figures out it was a dude who kidnapped him._

I shake my head and focus. There's no sign of Katherine anywhere. Behind the house and toward the end of the property are dozens of old car. I can see some of the tags from here and they look to be from everywhere. Had I not been on my way out of the bar and taken it with me, I wonder if the Impala would be part of that trophy collection now.

There's an old tin barn or garage or something toward the edge of the west end of the property. The area in front of the door has been moved recently and something makes me want to get inside there very, very badly. I'm not wasting time here – even though I'd really like to have a gun – and I start running for the garage. No one stops or seems to see me as I reach the door but I'm grateful that it doesn't make some God awful noise as I push it open and then shut it behind me.

Inside is dark but there's something here…cages? I can hear a low breathing but it sounds human. I swallow hard, knowing that I could be giving away my position but also that I need to take the risk. "Dean?" I whisper into the dark space.

The response is immediate. "Mack!" he barks back at me from the dark.

"Oh, Kenzie, thank God," Sam replies immediately. My heart nearly leaps out my throat and I run toward the sound, finding them inside a shared cage large enough that they can both stand. And they are standing – uninjured.

Dean reaches through the gate first and grasps my shirt inside his fist, yanking me closer to the bar. Beside him, Sam extends a hand to clasp my cheek. They both make the exact same face of relief and I can't help a thrilled smile when I hold each of their wrists. I turn my head and quickly kiss Sam's palm. "Shit it's good to see you," Sam breathes.

"Good girl," Dean agrees. "Are you hurt?"

"Me? You got kidnapped! I'm fine," I snap at him.

"How did you get out of those cuffs?" a very stern voice calls from behind me. The guys' snatch their hands away from me like I've become dirty all of a sudden and I turn, not surprised to find Officer Katherine Torre standing in the other cage. She looks less happy then Sam and Dean to see me.

I offer her an innocent smile and shrug. "I know a trick or two," I admit. She narrows her eyes at me and I have no doubt that she's going to put all three of us in jail when we're done here. That's about the least of my concerns right now, though. I move for the door of Sam and Dean's cage, finding a lock like I've never seen before. A bobby pin is going to be useless here. "These locks are gonna be a bitch."

"There's some kind of automatic control," Sam tells me, pointing behind me. I turn toward the door where he's pointing and find a large control box that looks like a fuse box. The door isn't look but the inside kind of confuses me. "Have you seen them?"

"Yeah," I answer with a nod. It reminds me and I look at the two boys staring at me from the inside of their cage. "They're just people…and they jumped you. Must be getting a little rusty there boys."

"I will kick your ass," Dean growls at me.

"You have no idea how nice it is to hear you threaten me again," I tell him with the sweetest smile I can muster. I catch him flash one in return and I'm certain that candy apple green eyes roll at me even in the dark. "Have you figured out what they want?"

"No," Sam answers with a frustrated sign. "They let Jenkins go but that was some sort of trap. It doesn't make any sense to me."

"That's kind of the point," I mumble, tugging a few wires to see if anything happens inside the box or to the lock. There's a button but it's not a normal button…this is weird.

Dean chimes in. "She's right. With our...you know, usual playmates, there's rules and patterns. But with people?"

"They just crazy," I finish, knowing where he's going. There's a reason I do this and not normal law enforcement is that people freak me out. I can't trust them to follow any rules, even the rules that monsters will follow. They're impossible to predict.

"Did you see anything else out there?" Officer Torre asks now.

I'm only half paying attention now when I answer, "He has about a dozen junk cars out back and plates from all over. So, I'm thinking that when they take someone they take their cars, too."

"Hey – "

"I grabbed the Impala last night," I tell Dean, answering the question I know he was about to ask.

"Did you see a black Mustang out there about ten years old?" Torre asks. She sounds odd, like she might be hopeful but is also nervous to ask.

 _Crap_.

I stop what I'm doing and turn to face her. "Yeah, actually, I'm pretty sure I did." Her face falls and I feel a tug on my heart which is really saying something since this person had me in cuffs a few minutes ago. "Your brother?" She looks down and gives me a little nod. "I'm sorry, Katherine. Listen." She looks up at me again. "Let's get you guys out of here and then we'll take care of these bastards. Alright?"

"The lock," she agrees, focusing her face again and nodding firmly. "Can you open it?"

"This thing…it takes a key." I look between the three of them and repeat, "A key?"

"We haven't seen anything like that," Sam answers.

I take a breath and slam the door to the control box shut. "Alright then. I better go find it."

"Oh I don't like this," I hear Dean groan.

"Hey, I found you two! And I'm not the one who got kidnapped, thanks," I snap. "You just stay here, stay cozy, alright?" Pain in my ass boys thinking I can't handle myself. I'm about to go make some heads roll and teach Dean a little something.

"Kenzie, please be careful," Sam calls out much more gently. That's better. I give him a nod and then get on my way back out of the shed. I'm aimed for the house this time and I'm going to find this key.

As far as I know there are two guys inside, likely waiting for Officer Torre's backup to show. They were talking about their father, so he might be in there too and is likely in charge of this creepy, weird, confusing, red neck circus that kidnapped my damn family.

 _Yupp, that guy has to die_.

I make my way slowly around the back of the house, using the cars littering the space to get all the way back around to the kitchen. The door picks open easily and pretty quietly. The house inside immediately smells kind of dusty to me. There are at least fifteen knives all over the counter, and I grab the biggest one I can find. As I move through kitchen and then dining room, I find all sorts of pieces that look like hunting trophies but…weird. Everything about this house is weird.

Finally, in the dining room, I find a bowl full of keys. I know that I'm looking for something short and round to fit into that control mechanism, but getting it out of the bowl quietly is going to be a challenge. I'm stopped before I even touch it when a little girl appears in the room suddenly. She's tiny and very thin, her clothes are just rags, and I don't think she's bathed in a while. There's definitely blood on her shirt.

"Hey, it's OK," I whisper to her softly, leaning down to her height. She looks about ten but is way too short for her age. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

The way that her sunken face twists into a smile is immensely disturbing. "I know," she relies. In the next moment she's screaming. "Daddy! Daddy!" I can hear footsteps approaching immediately and I know I need to fight so I step away from the kid for good position in the room, square off, and get pissed.

Two huge guys enter the room through same door, behind the little girl who is still smiling. I recognize them from outside earlier. "I'm gonna kick their asses first," I announce, pointing at the guys while staring down the creepy little kid. "And then you're going down. I don't care if you're five."

"What about me?" another man's voice asks, coming in through the kitchen.

 _Shit_.

"Aww Daddy I say let's hunt," one of the guys who is way too big to be calling someone 'Daddy' suggests.

"Oh yeah, this little one is a fighter," the other agrees. They're looking at me like there's more than fight they'd like to do and I make a decision about which body part I'm cutting off of them with this machete.

"She'd be fun to hunt Daddy," the tiny creep chimes in.

My stomach churns. "Oh, you have to be kidding me," I groan. "That's what this is about? You…you freaks hunt people?" The four of them smile at me and before I can gag, something hits me hard in the back of the head. It's not hard enough to knock me out but it's good enough to take me down. Once I'm on all fours, the two big guys don't have a lot of problem grabbing me. I'm slammed into a chair and the guy that I didn't see come up from behind me starts tying me down with a thick rope.

The father of this family stands in front of me and I stare up at him even though I can feel blood dripping from the side of my head. It oddly doesn't hurt. "You ever killed before honey?"

 _I'm gonna destroy him_.

I take a breath and give him a little smirk. "That depends on what you mean," I tell him rather honestly.

The old man seems to enjoy it. "I've hunted all my life," he says, speaking slowly. He's not hurrying, not panicked or rushed and that makes me feel a little more confident that I can get out of this, get Sam and Dean out of this. They're just people, after all. "Just like my father and his before him. I've hunted deer and bear. I even got a coo-coo once."

"Oh boy," I enthuse sarcastically, rolling my eyes. My hands are tied tightly to the arms of the chair and my waist has been knotted to the back of the chair. My legs are free though so I'm kind of hopeful that I can get him to come close enough that I kick him.

The father ignores me, though, and continues, "But the best hunt is human. Oh, there is nothing like it." He closes his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, almost like the thought is a spiritual feeling for him. My stomach is churning. "Holding their life in your hands, seeing the fear in their eyes just before they go dark." He opens dark brown eyes again and smiles at me as he concludes, "Makes you feel powerful alive."

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I don't know what to say so the only thing I can think of is, "You're a sick puppy."

"No!" he protests, still smiling and waving it off like we're talking baseball. "We give them a weapon. Give them all a fighting chance. It's kind of like our tradition." He smiles at his children, standing around me, and continues, "Passed down father to son, costs only a few a year. Never enough to bring the law down…we've never been that sloppy." He does not sound happy about that.

"Yeah, well, don't sell yourself short," I quip. "You're plenty sloppy." The old man's eyes narrow and it's clear he didn't like that.

"So, what?" he demands, voice harsher now. "You're with that pretty lady cop? Are _you_ a cop?"

He doesn't like that I mouth off. In fact, his children haven't said a word. And even though he believes that his victims have a fair chair, this man makes sure that all the odds are in his favor. He likes to be the father – in charge. I don't like authority and I'm not about to let him feel comfortable. "If I tell you, do you promise not to make me into an ash tray?"

The father jumps forward and with little warning, smacks me right across the face. It's painful but more because I realize that the little girl isn't pale, she's covered in powder. He's not afraid to smack young girls around. The man doesn't quit and leans close to my face. "The only reason I don't let my boys take you out right here and now is that there's something I need to know."

"Yes, it is illegal to marry your sister even in West Virginia," I announce. I earn a smack from the other direction, this one bringing the sour taste of blood on the inside of my cheek.

"Any other cops coming to look for you, honey?" he demands.

"Eat me," I snap, leaning forward as much as I can to spit in his face. The big guys – his sons, all three of them – start toward me but their father stops them with just a hand and a disgusting smile. He reaches up and wipes his cheek.

"You think this is funny?" he asks. The low tone of his voice makes me very anxious. "Alright. You want to play games. We'll play some games. Looks like we're gonna have a hunt tonight after all boys." All of his children smile and my heart only thumps a little harder. I can totally outrun all of these people, and they don't know that they're messing with a hunter as well. "And you, honey, get to pick the animal. Which boy?"

 _No!_

"OK, wait, wait!" I insist, struggling to get out of my bindings for the first time. My left arm isn't tied down tight enough to hold me for long. I'm not a southpaw but I'll figure something out. I need to prevent them from starting this hunt, though. "Look. No one is coming for me. Alright? It's just me."

"You don't choose, I will," he warns me.

I attempt a kick at him and shout, "Oh, you son of a bitch!"

"I'll take them both."

"Alright!" I shout, my heart really starting to found hard now. My head is going a mile a minute. I have to pick either Sam or Dean for them to hunt. The worst thought I've ever had is about which one of them I think is most likely to survive a sacrifice. "The shorter guy. The…the blonde-ish one. Take the shorter one."

The father stands up straight, slowly, smiling at me. "Lee. Go do it," he tells one of the sons. I watch Lee go into the dining room and grab the key I'd needed from that same damn bowl I wanted to look through. I genuinely wish I'd stabbed that little girl when I had the chance. The father puts up a hand to stop his son again and says, "Don't let him out, though. Shoot him in the cage."

"What? No!" I shout, shoving myself forward and all but standing in the chair until one of them shoves me back down. "I thought you said you were gonna hunt him. You gotta give him a chance!"

"Lee!" the father calls, stopping his son near the door now. "When you're done with that boy, shoot the big one and then the bitch. We're cleaning this mess up before any more cops come running out here."

The fuse ignites and I throw myself around in the chair, trying to get out. Now it's an emergency. "I swear if you hurt either of those boys, I will kill you," I snap at him. "I swear, I will kill you all. I will kill every one of your spawn and then you."

I watch him pale a bit and feel great about it, but then the air rings out with a shotgun blast. It's totally unmistakable. I close my eyes, unwilling to let my mind wonder which one he shot. He said Dean was first…and next…there are no more shots, though. There's no next, and when I open my eyes again I can see that Mr. Bad Dad is thinking the same thing. He looks terribly perturbed and I enjoy it maybe a little too much. He runs for the door and shouts into the yard, "Lee! Lee!" No answer and when he glares at me, I smile.

 _They took that son of a bitch down_.

"Damn it," he snarls. "Missy – you watch her now." The awful little girl turns toward me with that smile she has and stares at me. Her father and brothers are gone for ten seconds before she whips out a six inch blade and makes her way toward me. I wait, ready, holding my breath, and I let her press it into my cheek. When I feel a drop of blood start coursing over my skin, I make my move. My left hand is now tied loosely enough that with one swing, I break out of the ropes and the momentum lets me keep moving so that when I hit her, Missy goes down hard.

I reach down to her but only to steal her knife and release myself. With the blade in my hand, I stand over Missy for a moment. She's a monster, just like the rest of her family. Humans can be monsters too, after all, and this little girl is proof of that. I'd be doing society a favor…the blade feels heavy in a good way – a purposeful way - but a voice rings through my head. I don't recognize it at first, and then I realize that I'm hearing John Winchester. He scolded me once after I beat up a kid at a playground for bullying another kid.

"There's a fine line between people like us and the monsters we hunt," I say aloud as I hear John saying them in my head. Missy isn't disturbed from her unconscious state by my voice and her life won't be disturbed by my blade. Three gunshots ring out and make me jump, reminding me of the job at hand. I move quickly then, slipping the blade into the waistband of my jeans and tying Missy together with the ropes by her hands and feet. She's not going anywhere until the cops come to get her.

Satisfied with that, I head for the front door at a jog. Sam is already running up the stairs and he doesn't stop when he reaches me, collided with me instead and lifting me into strong arms. I throw myself greedily around him, grasping a fistful of hair and inhaling his scent deeply just to make sure he's actually here and OK.

 _I'd been sure I was losing them._

Sam releases me after a moment and kisses my lips, hard, before he takes a step back. Officer Torre and Dean are at the bottom of the stairs. "They hurt you bad?" Dean asks, motioning toward my face.

"Surface wounds," I brush it off.

"I'm really hopeful that you told me more lies and he's not your cousin," Torre notes, motioning back and forth between Sam and me. I laugh and shrug innocently. She points at Dean next, her face hardening. "You tell me he didn't kill anyone and I won't ask why he's not dead in St. Louis."

Dean scoffs and snaps, "I didn't kill anyone."

"He didn't kill anyone," Sam and I chime in simultaneously. She doesn't look happy but she nods. "I tied up the little girl. Where's the father?"

"Shot," Torre answers quickly. "Trying to escape." I nod immediately, not daring to question her. She takes a deep breath. "Listen, I'm calling in a moment. State Police and the FBI will be here within the house. They're gonna wanna talk to you." I swear I notice her smile, just a little, when she adds, "I suggest you're all long gone by then."

"Thank you," Sam responds for me, taking my hand and pulling me quickly down the stairs with him. I'm more than happy to take her advice and get the hell out of here. I need a shower after being around these people and a long night of beer, bad take out, and even worse movies.

"Hey, listen, I don't mean to press our luck," Dean begins with Torre. I wince when I realize just how much I'm starting to sound like him. "But we're kind of in the middle of nowhere. You think we could catch a ride?"

Torre laughs and has the grace to roll her eyes at him. "Start walking and duck if you see a SWAT car."

Sam grasps the back of Deans jacket and tugs it as he says, "Sounds great to me."

"Yeah, thanks," Dean agrees, walking with him. Torre is still smiling but I catch her look down and her face instantly falls. I stop and take a step back toward her, hoping I'm not crossing a line here.

"Listen…I'm really sorry about your brother," I tell her honestly. I had to imagine being in her shoes and it was hell.

"Thank you," Officer Torre says nodding and I think she's being genuine. "It was really hard not knowing what happened to him. I thought it would be easier once I knew the truth but…"

"But it really isn't," I finish. Hell like that doesn't fade when you find out something like this.

"You cracked open the biggest case this county never knew it had," Torre announces, shaking her head at me. She's giving me that look adults give a kid that they can't figure out. For some reason it doesn't piss me off. "You'd better get the hell outta here."

I laugh but nod and turn, ready to go now. She'll be OK.

More important, Sam and Dean stand side by side and waiting for me. They're OK, too. As the three of us start walking, I elbow Dean in the side. "Don't you two ever do that again."

"Do what."

"Go missing like that!"

Sam laughs and teases, "Oh, she was worried about us." Dean returns the laughter and pulls me under his arm, rubbing his hand through my hair.

"I'm saying that if you vanish like that again, I'm not looking for you," I lie, shoving him away from me. His arm is replaced by Sam's who tugs me against his side much more gently. I rest against his side and laugh easily. I catch green eyes watching us, mainly me, with a soft smile on his face. "I want Chinese."

"We'll be dead before we hit the hotel at this pace."

"All I want is whiskey."

"Oh, so much whiskey."

"I refuse to die without whiskey."

Walking back toward a road in the middle of nowhere after just being hunted like animals and for the first time in a full day, I feel completely normal again. This is how things are supposed to be. I kept true to my responsibility and got them back – I did the only thing that has ever mattered quite so much.

And I'm totally never letting either one of these boys out of my sight again.


	17. Interlude (1x15-16)

I never thought I'd miss Jim's church quite so much, but even the sight of it from the road makes me feel bubbly inside. We need a break – hell, we deserve a break and Jim was more than welcoming to all of us. I imagine a normal nineteen year old would be embarrassed to hug her pseudo-foster-adoptive-whatever dad for several minutes in front of her friends, but I don't care one bit. Jim is the single most comfortable thing I've been around in months. His warm brown eyes make me feel like I can be completely at ease, finally.

"You're sure you just needed a break, right?" Jim asks for at least the fifth time since I called him two days ago. He turns from the stove to give me a concerned but not totally skeptical glance. Jim knows that I can't lie to him when he's looking at me, and it only makes me smile now.

"We're sure," I tell him. "The last couple cases were kind of rough. I wanted to get off of the road for a couple days."

"Everything's fine," Dean chimes in to assure him further. Jim seems convinced though I know he's still worried and nods, turning back to flip the grilled cheese on the stove. "Grilled cheese, I don't even know the last time I had one of these." He's practically drooling and I laugh at him.

"They're Kenzie's favorites," Jim informs the whole role. "When she first got her license a couple years ago, she drove six hours both ways to some hole in the way that specializes in grilled cheese."

"That was a quality dining establishment," I argue, brandishing my fork at him.

Jim gives me a playful look and notes, "Which would be believable if she didn't spend the next three days wrapped around the toilet with food poisoning."

"Worth it," I note while Dean laughs.

Sam appears then, coming back into the kitchen from the basement. He's been checking out Jim's collection of old crap but apparently it's made him pretty happy, judging by the fact that both dimples are showing. "I like it here," he announces as he folds himself into the chair beside me just as Jim starts serving up our sandwiches.

"You're all welcome any time," Jim reminds us. He was thrilled when I said we were coming to stay for a couple of days until another case came up, and I know that he's missed me. I know because I've missed him, too. And I've really, really missed grilled cheese. Our sandwiches are gone in minutes and somehow Dean manages to pack away five before I finish two. I consider asking for a beer like Dean has to watch it down but stick to my Coke because I know Jim wouldn't like that. I've been out of the house and fighting monsters for nine months but I still feel like I need to behave around Pastor Jim. Granted, Dean and Sam are on their best behavior here, too.

"So, Kenzie's lived here since you brought her back from Brazil?" Sam asks. I'm surprised by the question; it seems weird that he'd want to talk about me when we're finally off the road. I don't really wanna talk at all.

"Very shortly after, yes," Jim answers, giving me a fond look though there's a sadness in his eyes, too. He always gets kind of sad whenever Brazil comes up, and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe with the fire it's just bad memories for him.

"You know, there's something about it in my dad's journal," Dean notes. I try not to roll my eyes because it's only a mention – barely a blip on the radar. "Did he go with you?"

I answer this time. "No, my Uncle Bobby was there with Jim."

"Uncle Bobby Singer?" Dean clarifies, smiling down at me. "We grew up calling him our uncle, too. You know, we should really swing by South Dakota and see him."

"Didn't he get into a fight with Dad?" Sam notes cautiously.

"Everyone gets into fights with your dad," I remind them, rolling my eyes now. John Winchester can be a little hard headed when it comes down the wire and the man knows how to make people angry.

Jim chimes in, "Bobby and I speak often, and he asks about all of you. I think it'd be nice if you could go visit him." I nod and make a silent promise to do so. I'm not going anywhere far for now, though.

"I'm gonna go veg out in my room and watch bad movies that aren't on a TV with bad reception," I announce, stretching my arms over my head.

"That sounds like my kind of vacation. I'm in," Dean agrees.

Sam stands and notes, "I'll come down in a little while, but I wanna check out the library first." Dean gives him a look and Sam puts on his bitch face when he protests, "Jim has a great collection." I join in when Dean laughs at him but take the sting out by kissing him cheek. I don't miss Jim's smirk when he sees me do it, but it's not like I have secrets.

 _OK, he doesn't know everything but he doesn't want to either_.

I lead Dean down to the basement and into what used to be my bedroom. I spent more time in this room than anywhere else in the world growing up. It's underground and isolated from the rest of the church and house, so I always felt like it was my personal safety bubble. Now I tend to think of the Impala that way and she's a much more attractive bubble. Dean makes a beeline for the DVD collection and I let him choose, tossing myself down onto the mattress. It's like sitting on clouds compared to the motels and I stretch out shamelessly.

"I forgot what a good movie collection you have," he notes. Dean looks back at me over his shoulder and add, "I kinda forgot how much time we used to spend together when you were little until you were back around."

"Me, too," I tell him honestly. "Jim and your dad must have hunted together a lot." I give him a smirk and note, "And you were such a lovely babysitter." Dean rolls his eyes and chooses one of my favorites, the original Die Hard. I grab my pillow and arrange myself comfortably, moving to lay on my stomach with my head at the foot of the bed. Dean makes himself comfortable beside me, leaning against my headboard with his feet near my head. I notice that he's not wearing shoes which is very unusual, and it makes me happy to think that he's so at ease.

The silence is easy and it's not long before Sam joins us, sitting it a chair beside my head and propping his feet up on a dresser drawer. We spend most of our Saturday there, more than happy to just relax. I could get used to this, really, falling into an easy and stress-free rhythm with these two.

It's over first thing in the morning, though. Jim gives us one somber look over bacon and eggs as we arrive to the kitchen, and he doesn't even need to say it. I know what's going on.

"Looks like you have a job in Chicago."


	18. 1x16: Shadow

**Crap, I've been away for such a long time. I'm sorry about that...and amazed so many of you are still favoriting Demons Inside. I've been off...well, beating cervical cancer. :) Now that I've proven myself a warrior I'm back and will be back at writing regularly ASAP - PROMISE! Always Keep Fighting SPN family - I love you.**

"I gotta say dad and me did just fine without these stupid costumes," Dean groans. He's been groaning all morning and it's only making my smile grow wider. He frowns at me and snaps, "Stop laughing."

"C'mon, this is the place," Sam tells us. I can tell from the tone of his voice that he's rolling his eyes. Nothing is managing to make me stop smiling today. The way Sam looks – even in their ridiculous little costumes – is helping. It's amazing how much more attractive you find someone when they were kidnapped a week ago.

With the car parked, the three of us climb out and I straighten out the jacket of my suit, adjusting myself for steadiness on my heels. Dean scowls at me from inside his one-piece, polyester, and blue suit. "How do I look?" I ask, teasing him further and doing a little spin on the edge of my right heel.

"I feel like a high school drama dork," he grumbles. Sam hands me a briefcase and holds his own little toolkit that is full of rather unusual tools at the moment. "Hey, what was that play you did Sammy?" Dean wonders aloud. He snaps his fingers twice, muttering, "What was it…oh, 'Our Town'!"

I can't help a laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Oh yeah, he was good." Sam gives me a dark look and I try to keep my mouth closed tightly to stifle laughter. Dean finally smiles and notes, "He was adorable."

"Look do you two wanna pull this off or not?" Sam asks. The brothers are apparently going to switch off with snapping at me today. I should be annoyed but I'm in an oddly good mood. I find the two of them and their arguing extra endearing today. And it doesn't hurt that we got two hotel rooms for the last couple of nights.

"I'm just saying this is stupid and these outfits cost hard-earned money!" Dean tells his brother, clearly not ready to give up.

"Whose money?"

Dean blinks and answers, "Ours. What, you think credit card fraud is easy?"

Now I roll my eyes. "Will you two knock it off? We're here." Our destination for the day has been reached. A girl named Meredith was murdered inside a locked apartment with her alarm on, and apparently the murder was gruesome. The Winchesters a suited up as simple alarm company agents today and I'm here as a representative of their insurance company. All standard procedure – or at least that's how we explain it to the landlord who takes us up to the fifth floor of the building.

"Thank you for letting us look around," I offer as she motions to let us walk in ahead of her. The woman looks less than pleased but not skeptical, and some of me wonders if that's just how her face is.

"You all said you're with the alarm company?" she clarifies.

"That's right."

She makes a rude noise. "Well no offense but your alarm is about as useful as boobs on a man."

Dean stifles a laugh beside him while Sam, as always, remains calm. "That's why we're here – to see what went wrong and stop it from happening again."

"Ma'am, you found the body right?" I ask. She nods. "Right after it happened?"

"No, a few days later." The apartment is neat – a normal neat, not like someone cleaned it all up just like the person who lives here doesn't like mess. The walls, desk, windows, and a huge spot on the floor are coated in blood. What happened here was really bad. "Meredith's work called because she hadn't showed up. I knocked on her door and then then I noticed the smell."

I turn and give her my attention, figuring she's the closest thing to a witness we have. "Any windows open? Any sign of a break-in?"

She shakes her head while I ask the questions. "Windows were locked, front door was bolted. Chain was on the door – we had to cut it to get in."

"And the alarm was still on?"

"Like I said, bang up job your company is doing," she quips.

 _Fair enough_. "Did you see any overturned furniture, broken glass, signs of a struggle?" It's possible someone has fixed a chair or couch or something.

"Everything was in perfect condition." She grimaces and adds, "Except Meredith."

"And what condition was Meredith in?"

I watch her dark skin pale a little and almost feel bad for asking. "Meredith was all over…in pieces. The guy who killed her must have been a whack job but I tell you, if I didn't know any better, I'd have said a wild animal did it."

I nod, considering it. She might quite a bit more accurate than she actually realizes. "Ma'am do you mind if we take some time and give this place a real once over?" Now that we've talked about Meredith, it's clear that the landlord doesn't mind getting out of the apartment and within a minute the three of us are alone.

I kneel over the puddle of blood still remaining while Dean goes into the tool kit he's brought for the EMF. Sam is checking the windows still and I'm just kind of hoping something obvious will jump out at us here.

Sam lets out a frustrated breath. "So, the killer walks in and out of the apartment. No weapons, no prints, nothing." He shakes his head and notes, "I'm telling you guys, the minute I found that article I knew this was our kind of gig."

"I think I agree with you," Dean notes. I hear the telltale high-pitch of the EMF going crazy; something non-human has been here and it's left a mark. I go to him and take the black light scanner that will show us anything not immediately visible.

"So you talked to the cops?" I ask. Dean was supposed to get this done last night at a cop bar. I don't doubt his abilities.

I can almost hear the smirk when he begins, "Oh, yeah. I spoke to Amy – a charming, perky officer of the law." I grimace and glance over at Sam to find a half-annoyed smile on his face as he gazes at his brother's back.

"What did you find out?"

Sam asks it almost like a challenge but Dean doesn't notice. "Well, she's a Sagittarius. She loves tequilia, I mean…" He lets out a little whistle, reminiscing a little too intently considering there are people around him. "Oh, and she's got this little tattoo – "

"Dean!" I snap even though I'm starting to laugh. It's really enough and he's so damn easily distracted but I can't help it.

He turns toward Sam and me, frowning as though genuinely confused and asks, "What?" Our faces answer for him and he shrugs. "Oh, yeah, well nothing we don't already know…except for one thing that they're keeping out of the papers." Dean's expression turns serious and he tells us, "Meredith's heart was missing."

"Her heart?" Sam repeats.

"Like…the whole heart?" I ask. Dean nods. _Ew_. "Great. What do we think did it to her?"

Sam shrugs broad shoulder. "The landlady said it looked like an animal attack. Maybe it was. Werewolf?"

"Not a werewolf," Dean corrects him quickly. "The lunar cycle's not right."

"Plus if it was a creature, it would've left some kind of trace," I note. "It was probably some kind of spirit." I don't love the idea but it's mildly less disturbing than an animal shredding her.

Dean's face falls into a serious frown as he walks slowly toward the middle of the room, stopping where the blood is spattered on the white carpet still. He's wearing his thinking face and I can't help but find it encouraging; the guy has a gut like no one else I've ever met. "See if you can find some masking tape around," he directs.

Sam gets his bitch face on and I know it's his infuriating inability to just take a damn direction. I don't bother to wait for his question and move for the tool box; it did actually belong to a mechanic before us so there's electrical tape and I toss the roll at Dean. He kneels and starts immediately while I move behind him, watching his work. I catch on quickly; the bigger spots of blood seem odd for an incident like this…they almost seem intentional. Sam stands slightly behind me, probably sensing that I got annoyed with him but I don't care about that right now.

Dean finishes and stands with us, the three of us looking down at the floor. "Ever see a symbol like that before?" he asks. Its kind a rounded Z or too-straight S with a circle in the middle where the lines change direction. It's definitely intentional and definitely unfamiliar.

"Never," I answer.

"Me neither," Sam agrees.

Dean lets out a slow breath. "Something did this."

 **...4 Hours Later, Bar…**

It's been a rough afternoon. After poring over several books hundreds of years old for anything related to that symbol, I'm tired and in desperate need of whiskey. It doesn't take much to convince Sam to join me on my trip to a local bar to meet up with Dean. He's scoping out the place where Meredith worked, asking her friends and coworkers for information and I happily throw back a shot while we wait for him at a table. This bar is crowded and I hate the other people here on sight, but the second shot helps.

"It's frightens me how much more you become like Dean every day," Sam notes with a laugh though I think he's only half kidding.

"I don't think you mean it that way, but I'm taking that as a compliment," I tell him. "Mostly because you're really cute." Sam gives me a full, megawatt, both-dimples smile and it's all I can do not to melt.

Luckily I'm saved from my melting experience when Dean appears, balancing three beers which he places down on the table in front of us. I try not to be too eager when I grab mine but I was really enjoying our little timeout so my stress levels are a little high.

"I talked to the bartender," Dean announces.

The pride he says it with sends off red flags and I flash him a smile. "Did you get anything besides her number?"

He gives me a mock offended look. "Hey! I'm a professional." I roll my eyes and reach over, dipping my hand quickly into his jacket pocket. I'm not surprised to find a napkin in there and even less surprised to find that Maddie has doted the 'I' in her name with a heart when she wrote her number.

"You mind doing a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?" Sam teases. Dean makes a face but takes the napkin back from me and tucks it securely into the pocket of his jeans.

"There's really nothing to find out," he assures us, sliding onto the other stool at our table. "Meredith worked here – she waited tables. Everyone here is her friend. Everyone says she's normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she died."

 _Well that's totally unhelpful._

"What about that symbol? Did you find anything?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Nope. Nothing."

"It wasn't in dad's journal or in any of the usual books," Sam continues. "We're just gonna have to dig a little deeper I guess." He seems to think of something and looks down at me. "Hey there was a first victim, right?"

"Yeah," I answer, pulling out my notebook. "His name was uh…Ben Swardstrom." I read from news clipping on the case and tell them, "Last month he was found mutilated in his townhouse. Same deal – door was locked, alarm was on."

"Any connection?."

Again, I have to shake my head. This having nothing thing is getting old fast. "Nothing I could find. Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. No reason to believe they ever met or knew anyone in common."

"They're practically from different words," Sam notes wisely.

Dean smirks. "So the only successful intel we've score is the bartender's phone number." I laugh and shake my head at him. I'm distracted when Sam stands up suddenly, looking past Dean and into the crowd with a half frown but not a sad one. He looks like he's recognized someone. "What?" Dean asks him, noticing as well and looking back over his shoulder.

"Sam?" I call as he stands without explaining, moving away from us and into the crowd. I watch and wish I hadn't when he stops at a table to get the attention of a very pretty chick with a blonde pixie cut. They definitely know one another and seem pretty thrilled at their reunion judging by their hug and I don't miss the fact that Sam holds her for a beat too long after the hug. I feel something like a cold rock plunge into the pit of my gut.

"Nope, this isn't happening," Dean announces. He throws back the rest of my beer and takes my hand, yanking me off the stool and toward Sam with his new friend.

"Dean, stop," I tell him, trying to tug my hand away. I don't want to confront this.

Dean ignores me. "No one gets to make you look like that," he announces firmly. As we reach them, the blonde is beaming up at Sam – my Sam.

"Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we'd run into each other?" I hear her ask.

"I know," Sam responds, smiling his full smile…the one I like most. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Well I'm glad you were wrong." She's definitely flirting and while it pisses me off, I'm not inclined to interrupt. Dean is a different beast though and he coughs very loudly. The blonde gives him a dirty look and snap, "Dude. Cover your mouth."

Sam turns and notices us for the first time, having the good sense to at least look a little embarrassed. "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry. Meg this is, um, my brother Dean and Kenzie." I guess tonight I'm just Kenzie? I narrow my eyes at him but don't know if he's noticed.

"This is Dean?" Meg asks, motioning toward him.

"So you've heard of me?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

She scoffs in a rude way. "Oh, yeah, I've heard of you. It's real nice the way you treat your brother like luggage."

"Excuse me?" I snap in response, moving in front of Dean now. No little tramp is going to talk to my best friend like that. I consider snapping her neck, certain I could do it pretty quickly. She's got a mouth but I could take her down and damn do I want to.

Meg doesn't stop and narrows her eyes at me. "You're no better, always taking Dean's side on everything. Why don't you two let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him all over God's green earth?"

"You keep running your mouth and I'll – "

Sam cuts me off. "No, it's alright. Meg, it's alright." He doesn't seem at all bothered by the fact that this little bitch his speaking to me or to his brother like this. And how the hell does she know anything about Dean and me?

 _It's not the perky blonde I should be mad at, it's the way oversized dick!_

"C'mon Mack," Dean says gently, taking my elbow and tugging me back toward him. "Let Sam dig his grave if he wants to." His tone his cold and Sam doesn't seem bothered but I follow Dean's advice and move back toward our table. He quickly orders two shots and we down them simultaneously.

I can't help keeping an eye on Sam and it only takes a minute before he's programming her number into her phone. He got her number. Well, shit. I guess both Winchester boys do their thinking with the wrong head in Chicago. After a few more flirtatious smiles from both of them, Sam makes his way back toward us and I finish the rest of my beer quickly. "Who the hell was she?" Dean demands, not quietly.

"I don't really know, man," Sam breathes, his tone really odd. "I only met her once."

"And you're meeting up with her again?" I clarify.

He's barely even listening, still gazing off into the crowd, and just mumbles, "I don't know. It's weird." I consider smacking him.

"What was she saying?" Dean continues, obviously pissed. "That I treat you like luggage? We drag you around?"

"You were bitching about us to some chick?" I chime in.

Finally he's paying attention and at least looks a little guilty. "Look, I'm sorry guys. It was when we all had that huge fight, when I was at the bus stop in Indiana."

Dean isn't done. "Mmhmm, and is there any truth to what she's saying? Are we keeping you against your will, Sam?" I know when he calls his brother 'Sam' that it's serious." Sam however just rolls his eyes.

"No, of course not. Now would you listen?"

I slam my empty glass down onto the table hard enough that Sam jumps and demand, "What?" I don't want to listen to a damn thing he has to say right now.

He takes a breath before continuing. "I think there's something strange going on here." Dean scoffs in the same rude way Meg did a few minutes ago. "I mean like our kind of strange. Maybe even a lead."

"Why do you say that?" It's hard not for Dean to bite, I know that.

"I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road," Sam explains, palms pressed flat to the table. He's standing at full height which is rare and means he's trying to make himself look important. It annoys the shit out of me and only makes me feel like an elf. "Now I run into her in some random Chicago bar – the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural. You guys really don't think that's weird?"

"It happens," I note.

"Fine it happens, but not to us." I roll my eyes and look away. "Look I could be wrong. I'm just saying there's something about this girl that I can't quite put my finger on."

 _Enough._

"I bet you'd like to," I snap, giving him a bitch face that I learned from him. "Maybe she's not a suspect, maybe you've got a thing for her?"

Sam pales and immediately Dean senses it just like I know, senses his guilt, so he jumps in to defend me with a snarky comment of his own. "Thinking a little too much with the downstairs brain, huh?"

"No." His voice is firm but he barely gives us time to consider it. "Just do me a favor. Check and see if there's a Meg Masters from Massachusetts and see if you can't dig anything up on that symbol."

"And what are you gonna do?" Dean demands.

There's no hesitation when Sam responds, "I'm gonna watch Meg."

"You know – "

I can imagine the kind of things Dean is preparing to say and I don't want to hear them. I grab a fistful of the leather jacket and pull him away from the table with me. Dean doesn't argue and I don't release him until we get outside. I'm grateful that it's not until then that my heart starts to do a painful, awkward thumping that reminds me of the time I was dying from damage. I swallow the lump in my throat and let go of Dean's jacket.

He doesn't go away, instead tucking me firmly under his shoulder and against his side. I inhale the scent of spice and leather, letting the breath calm the tears threatening at the edge of my eyes. At the same time, I decide I'm done. "I don't want to talk about it," I tell Dean, hearing the way my own voice sounds kind of weird.

"Talk about what?" Dean responds. It's easy, simple, obvious. I know he means it. I know in a world where nothing is certain, this is the one thing I can trust. I don't hesitate to lean further into him. Dean can hold me up for a moment…I deserve someone holding me up.

I'm a hunter but I'm still a nineteen year old girl…and this sucks.

 **…** **2 Hours Later, Hotel Room…**

Its four hours before the phone rings and I'm not surprised its Sam. I am surprised that he's calling my cell phone instead of Dean's though. "Are you calling me while lurking outside of some girl's apartment?" I ask as a response when I answer the phone, leaving it on speaker.

"No." No one says anything and it only takes a second for him to cave. "Yes."

"You have a funny way of showing your affection." I'm talking about both myself and Meg. Dean gives me a dark look and Sam chooses to ignore me – no surprises there either.

"Did you find anything on her or what?"

Dean's been on that side of the research so he answers, "There's a Meg Masters in the Andover phone book. I even pulled up her high-school photo." I'm not too shallow to admit that I'm pretty thrilled she was uglier in high school. She's certainly not ugly now, though.

"So you might as well just get it over with, go knock on her door, and invite her to a poetry reading or whatever it is normal people do," I snap. 'Normal' comes out like a dirty word, exactly the way I intended. I'm clearly still pissed and letting it fester is much easier than feeling pain. Besides I've been extremely productive.

"What about the symbol?" His voice is much softer now and I'm thrilled about knowing I've gotten to him. And now I get the opportunity to show off my productivity, too.

"Yeah, it turns out that it's Zoroastrian," I tell him. "Very, very old-school. It's sigil for a daeva."

"What's a daeva?"

"It translates to demon of darkness. Zoroastrian demons and they're savage; totally animalistic, nasty attitudes."

"Basically demonic pit bulls," Dean chimes in.

"How did you guys figure that out?"

I scoff at the phone and wish he was here to smack him. "Excuse me? I'm brilliant, with or without a Stanford education."

"OK let's stay on track – this is serious," Dean advises. "These daevas. They have to be summoned. Someone is controlling the thing."

I nod and focus. "And from what we've found, it's pretty risk business. They tend to bite the hand that feeds them."

"And the arms and the torsos." I grimace at Dean who finally cracks a smirk. It does make me feel better but I roll my eyes at him anyway.

"What does it look like?"

"Nobody's seen them for a couple of millennia," I explain. "Summoning a demon that ancient, though? Someone really knows their stuff. We're thinking we've got a major player in town."

"So come back to the hotel and we'll figure out who," Dean suggests, stretching his arms over his head. There's a silence on the other end and I know exactly what it means.

"I think I need to stay on Meg," Sam says. I can almost hear the wince before he corrects, "I mean keep watching her. Something's off." He takes a breath and continues, "Kenzie, it's not – "

"Let us know if you find anything." With that, I close the phone and end the call. "You hungry?"

Dean doesn't miss a beat. "Starving."

 **…** **Before Dawn…**

You'd think someone who knows Dean and me, spends every day with us, would know better than to come bursting into our hotel room with no warning or announcement. He ends up with the end of my gun leveled right at his head, cocked and ready. Dean moved even faster than I did because he got all the way from his bed to position himself between the apparent intruder and me. Sam's biggest problem is that even once I realize it's him, I consider at least popping him in the kneecap.

Sam barely notices. He's breathing quickly and slams the door behind him, taking the stop at the end of my bed like it's a stage. "It's Meg. Meg is summoning the daeva," he tells us firmly. I release tension on my gun and stare up at him, confused, while Dean makes the mattress bounce when he sits down hard.

"What?"

"How do you know that for sure?" _How could he find that out and still be alive?_

"She left her place after a little while and I followed her into some warehouse," he explains, now pacing like the information inside him is just too much to contain. "She had a black alter. That has to be how she's controlling the thing." He turns like remembering something else suddenly and continues, "She had this bowl…she was talking into it, the way witches used to speak into crystal balls. It was like she was communicating with someone."

"With the daeva?" Dean clarifies.

My mind is going a mile a minute but I discard that idea before Sam does. "No, you guys said those thing were savages and this wasn't. It sounded like someone's giving her orders…someone who is coming to that warehouse."

 _Oh, this is bad_.

Dean turns to look at me just as I hear myself mutter, "Holy crap." I leap out of the bed and rush toward the table, totally not caring that I'm only wearing a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. In an hour I'll be mortified that the guy I'm hating right now and basically my brother are seeing me without pants or a bra, scars and all on highlight. Right now, it doesn't matter. The paperwork I'm looking for is on top, easily found on the table.

"I talked Dean's cop friend Amy into doing his little sister a favor," I explain, handing the file over to Sam. "Complete records of the two victims – we missed something the first time."

Sam frowns at me so I continue, "The first victim – the old man? He spent his whole life in Chicago." I pull open the file and point as I tell him, "Look where he was born."

Sam reads, "Lawrence, Kansas."

"Yeah, and Meredith – second victim? Turns out she was adopted." I flip the pages for Sam while asking, "Guess where's she's from?"

This time when I point and Sam breathes, he echoes my original thought, "Holy crap."

"That _is_ where the demon killed mom," Dean notes.

"You guys think Meg's tied up with _the_ demon?" Sam checks.

I nod and tell him, "I think it's a definite possibility. But what's the significance of Lawrence? And how do these daeva things fit into it now?"

Dean stands up, his action-ready stance fully prepared. "I say we trash that black alter, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation."

"As much as I'd like to, we shouldn't tip her off," I counter. "We need to stake out that warehouse. We have to see who or what is showing up to meet her." Both guys nod a little and I can see their anxiety. I share it, but wonder if they've reached the same conclusion as I have. "One thing is for damn sure. I don't think we can do this alone."

Sam's face hardens and Dean's falls so I know that they both agree. We need to try to get John involved since he knows more about this demon than any of us. Try being the operative word of course, and these efforts might be as futile as all the others as the day progresses and our calls to him go unanswered. We all busy ourselves in our own ways…Dean dwelling over his dad, Sam researching daeva, and I find myself most comfortable getting every weapon I can think of ready to go.

It's after dark when I hear Dean on the phone again in the bathroom, just after he'd gotten out of the shower. I'm on my mattress again, cleaning out my personal .45 caliber even though it kills my shoulder to fire it even once. I feel like a beast of a weapon is going to make me somehow more stable this evening. Sam is at the small table, clicking through some website on the computer. He glances up hopeful when Dean's voice first mumbles through the wall but falls again when it's evident that the conversation is one-sided.

When Dean appears, wearing jeans but no shirt, I clarify, "Voicemail?"

"Yeah," he gruffs. I watch his eyes fall on the bed covered in various weapons and the overstuffed duffel bag at my feet. "Jeez. What'd you get?"

I give him a serious look at admit, "I ransacked that trunk for everything I could think of, plus holy water and exorcism rituals from about a half-dozen religions." I shrug. "I'm not sure what to expect."

"So we should just expect everything," Dean agrees, nodding to me in approval before pulling his t-shirt on and then sitting at the table across from Sam. He takes a breath. "It's a big night. You nervous?"

"No," I answer quickly and mostly honestly. OK, maybe not mostly. "Are you?"

"No." He looks over the computer at Sam who is looking back and force between the two of us. I don't believe him.

Sam insists, "No." I definitely don't believe him. "But can you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, alright?" Dean inserts immediately. He's right, of course.

"I'm know, I'm just saying what if we did?" Sam is pretty clearly on a roll now. He's getting a little excited at the idea and Dean glances at me quickly as he continues. "What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I'd sleep for a month. Go back to school. Just be a person again."

My stomach sinks immediately into my shoes and Dean slams barrel of the he's started cleaning shotgun a little too hard. "You wanna go back to school?" I manage, definitely not sounding casual enough about it.

Sam blinks but then shrugs. "Well, yeah, once we're done hunting the thing. Why? Is there something wrong with that?"

I just shake my head and Sam looks over at Dean who quickly covers, "No, no it's great. Good for you." He doesn't sound believable. I'm well aware that Dean is struggling with the idea as much as I am. In all honestly I immediately kind of hope that whatever Meg was calling isn't the demon…no matter how mad I am at Sam, I don't want him to leave.

"I mean what about you guys?" Sam asks. "Kenzie you weren't hunting full-time before. What are you gonna when it's over?"

I laugh, but the sound is humorless and so is the emotion. "There's always gonna be others. There will always be something to hunt."

"But there's gotta be something that you guys want for yourselves," he urges.

"We don't want you leave the second this is over," Dean snaps.

Sam puts on his bitch face, only annoying me further. Does he really not get this? Is it possible to be _this_ dense? Proving that it is, Sam's response is to snap at his brother, "Dude. What's your problem?"

Dean finally loses his cool and throws his hands up. "C'mon man. Why do you think I drag you everywhere, huh? Why do you think I came and got you at Stanford?"

"'Cause dad was in trouble," Sam answers dumbly. "'Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed mom."

"Yes, but it's more than that, man. You and me and Mack…we're a team. This thing, it works, you know? And when Dad meets up with us, then we'll all be family again."

Sam sighs slowly, his face falling into a sad frown. Part of me feels like I shouldn't be here for this private conversation, even after all these months and all the not-so-private conversations. It's not Dean that makes me feel that way…it's Sam. Always one foot out the door. And he _still_ doesn't get it. "Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you guys." He shakes his head and urges, "But things will never be the way they were before."

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Dean breathes, "They could be." My heart aches for him because I can feel Sam's answer coming even before he says it.

The final blow is delivered: "I don't want them to be," Sam says, finally giving voice to what I've known and Dean has been trying to avoid all along. One of us is not a hunter, not for life anyway. "I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."

Dean doesn't look up from his work on the table. After a beat of silence, Sam opens his mouth to speak but the last thing I need is to hear more of his crap. I can't stand the look on Dean's face, so I interrupt him. "Sam, why don't you go out and get us all some dinner. Whatever's fastest."

I can feel his eyes on me but don't look up at him. I don't want any part of me to give away the fact that I might be more than a little disappointed. Just because I had my suspicions Sam would leave doesn't mean I'm happy about it or looking forward to it. Finally, without another word, Sam leaves the hotel room and I hear the familiar growl of the Impala a few minutes later. As soon as we know he's gone, Dean lets the gun he was cleaning and re-cleaning fall to the table with a loud clatter.

"Dean, I – "

"No, it's OK," he tells me, waving off whatever I might have said. I didn't actually have a plan in mind. "I should've known this was coming, I've just been fooling myself. Besides, I still got you." He flashes a smile and extends a closed fist over the table towards me as he asks confidently, "Right, kid?"

"Always." I bump my knuckles against his without hesitation.

Things will be very different very soon if we defeat the demon tonight. Not everything will change though. I'll always have Dean Winchester's back, and I never have to wonder if he's got mine.

 **…** **Sometime After Midnight…**

I didn't expect Sam to have us scale the inside of an old elevator shaft – asshole. It takes almost more upper body strength then I have but a combination of adrenaline from knowing what might be waiting for us at the top and absolute determination not to fail in front of them forces me onward up and upward. Toward the top, all three of us are grunting softly with the effort. The only light we've seen yet is in front of us a now, a large brick room glowing from dozens of candles. The only furniture in the room is a small table covered in various artifacts; my view is obstructed by Meg. The sight of her makes me see red and hearing her murmur something that's definitely not English makes my blood boil. I wanted to bash her face in at the bar. Now? I don't think my adopted dad would appreciate me giving voice to the thoughts I have now.

Meg is completely involved in her work – demon shit kind of demands that of you. When she doesn't react to us after a beat, I nudge Sam and nod toward the opening in the bars that will allow us out of the elevator shaft. He has to go for Dean and I to be able to, and my arms are burning with the effort of staying here. Sam's movements are nearly silent and Meg doesn't react at all. He reaches a hand for me and I ignore it, handing him a gun to provide cover for us instead.

When he's standing, the gun leveled at Meg's back, I climb out and cross in front of him before cutting to the back of the room where shadows and brick columns will hide us. Dean follows, the duffel bag over his shoulder. Sam joins us, each of us keeping an eye on Meg's back while moving as quietly as possible – I barely dare to breathe. There are empty crates and boxes back here, providing additional cover. Kneeling behind a pile of crates, Sam again takes aim at Meg for cover and I look to Dean. He pulls out two shotguns and hands them both to me. I give one to Sam and exchange it for the glock he was carrying, sticking that into the duffel bag instead. Dean has the third sawed off aimed already.

I don't have a chance to lift my weapon before Meg speaks, this time not talking to herself or her demon. "Guys," she calls. "Hiding is a little bit childish, don't you think?"

I curse under my breath and Dean mutters, "Well that didn't work out like I'd planned." Slowly, Meg turns, looking directly back toward us as if she's known we've been here the entire time…or something told her we were.

"Why don't you come out?" she suggests. There's really no point in remaining hidden, so I stand and the boys follow suit. We all keep our weapons pointed at her; I'm considering shooting her just on the principle and can feel my hands shaking with adrenaline. Meg, Goddamn her, is smiling and sauntering toward us like she doesn't have a care in the world. "Sam." She stops walking and cocks her head to the side. "I have to say this puts a real crimp in our relationship." My stomach tightens and my finger twitches a bit on the trigger.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam responds, hands flexing on his own weapon.

"So." Dean draws her attention to him and Meg's gaze instantly hardens when she looks at him. For some reason, her animosity to him pisses me off even more than the flirting with Sam. "Where's your little Daeva friend?"

She smirks. "Around. And that shotgun's not gonna do much good."

I let out a single, harsh laugh. "Don't worry sweetheart. The shotgun's not for the demon." Her smile grows and it takes all my willpower not to pop her in the knee.

"So who is Meg?" Sam asks, getting down to business. Her head turns to him, the smile not moving. "Who's coming? Who are you waiting for?"

Meg pauses for a just a moment and then her smile fades, her face suddenly becoming much more serious. It's enough to make me believe that we've rocked her a little, set her on edge. The glare in her eye makes me feel cold, though. "You." I don't have time to respond or let that sink in before Sam calls out and spins around, slamming the floor like something just hit him hard in the jaw. I barely blink and the next thing I know, something has me by the hair and flings me backward into the brink. Dean yells out before being tossed onto one of the piles of crates by something invisible.

I dive forward for my shotgun and get my hand wrapped around the barrel, ready to just start shooting up the entire room until I hit something. A fierce, hot sensation circles my wrist, squeezing painfully, and then jerks it behind my back so quickly it nearly pops my shoulder. I hear myself cry out as a combination of rage and pain blinds me for a second. "Mack!" Something hits me hard in the head, sending the room toppling…and then everything goes dark.

I come to with a start, feeling the brick behind my back and my arms pulled painfully tight behind me. My head is raging, I can feel blood over my eye. I try to move and find that I'm tied up, sitting upright and attached to one of the brink columns in the room. The first thing I see when I open my eyes is Meg, smiling at me. _I'm going to kill her_.

Dean is to my left, in the same situation. He's bleeding from the corner of his eye but conscious and looking over at me, like he was waiting for me to come to. Sam is on my other side, tied just as tightly. He's got nasty, deep scratches all the way down his cheek and took a bad hit on his forehead. Meg seems to have let the Daeva give him the worst of it. I look back to her, finding that she looks damn satisfied with herself. "Hey, Sam," I call out. "Don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend is a total bitch."

I hear Dean snort and Meg just narrows her eyes at me, biting her lip in a cocky way. "This." Sam's voice is strained, ragged, like he's fighting back tears or screaming. "The whole thing was a trap – running into you at the bar, following you here, hearing what you had to say. It was all a setup, wasn't it?"

Meg laughs softly, her smile telling the rest of the story. I shift a little while she listens to him, my fingers finding just the very top of the knife tucked into my jeans.

"And that the victims were from Lawrence?" Dean clarifies. He's angry we got trapped and he should be. This was stupid, a rooky mistake. We all walked into this simply because we got ahead of ourselves, let our emotions dictate our next moves.

Meg shrugs and confirms. "Doesn't mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that's all."

"You killed those two people for nothing," Sam snaps.

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less." I have no problem believing her. I can almost smell the blood on her hands now, her true spirit just rolling off of her in violent waves. This bitch is nasty, that I know for sure. Sam is breathing heavier now, getting emotional and letting her get to him.

Dean can see that too and quips, "You trapped us. Good for you." He nods slowly, mouth pulling down in a sarcastic way. Then he smirks and offers, "It's Miller Time." Instantly I can see that even his voice pisses Meg off, her body shifting as he talks. She's dangerous in general but she really hates Dean. "Why don't you just kill us already?"

Meg takes a breath like she needs to calm down and when she speaks, her voice is a little higher. "Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" I feel myself frown and glance over at Dean; he looks just as confused. Meg leans forward where she sits atop a desk, her elbows coming to her knees. "This trap isn't for you." She says each word slowly, letting them linger in the air so that their weight sets in with what she's say.

"Dad." Sam has caught on, too. He whips his head to look at Dean and me, fear and rage clouding his eyes. "It's a trap for Dad." My stomach feels like it's full of ice but my skin is growing hotter by the minute. Meg's smile confirms it all.

I shake my head and force a casual laugh, refusing to sound as fucked up as I feel. "Oh, bitch, you are dumber than you look. Because even if John was in town – which he is not – he wouldn't walk into something like this." I shake my head, actually believing this last part. "He's too good."

"He is pretty good, I'll give you that." Meg stands slowly and struts toward me, standing over me so that I have to look up to see your face. She kicks my left leg, forcing it closer to the other and then stands with her feet on either side of my thighs before crouching so that we're eye to eye. When she speaks, I can feel her breath on my face. "But you see, he has one weakness."

I raise my eyebrows, curious, and ask, "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Meg stares me in the eye when she answers, "You. He lets his emotions about his boys cloud his judgment, lets his guard down around precious Mackenzie Lynne." My heart thumps awkwardly, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. She leans even closer and says, "I happen to know that he is in town. And he'll come. And he'll try to save you." All trace of a smile disappears so that she looks as dangerous as I know she is. "And then the daevas will kill everybody…nice and slow and messy."

With each word, she walks her hands up my sternum, her fingers coming to rest at the base of my throat. She's barely touching me but it feels like she's choking me.

"I got news for you," Dean says beside me. "It's gonna take a lot more than a shadow to kill him."

"Oh, the daevas are here, in the room," Meg informs all of us, nodding confidently. "They're invisible. Their shadows are just the only part of them you can see."

"Why are you doing this, Meg?" Sam asks, looking up at the ceiling instead of at her or any of us. "What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh, and with who?"

That strikes a chord and Meg turns her head toward him when she snaps, "I'm doing this for the same reasons you do. Loyalty. Love." Sam scoffs and looks away from her. "Like the love you had for Mommy." I tense, wishing I could punch her or that she would walk away so I could get my damn knife all the way out. "Or Jess."

Sam's voice is barely a whisper when he responds, "Go to hell."

Now Meg positively beams at him. "Baby, I'm already there." I frown, wondering what the hell that's supposed to mean. I find it hard to believe that she's being tortured to do this considering how damn pleased with herself she seems to be. Finally, she moves away and starts crawling toward Sam. I renew my efforts for my knife, keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't notice.

"C'mon Sam," she breathes, approaching him. "There's no need to be nasty." Meg crawls up to him and straddles his lap, making my heart pound as she runs her lips over his neck and her hands up his chest. I know what the muscles under that shirt feel like and absolutely hate that she does now too. She presses her cheek to his like she's going to whisper but speaks loud enough for all of us to hear. "I think we both know how you really feel about me." She comes to rest on his lap, resting her hands against him like they're a couple and completely alone. "You know I saw you, watching me…changing in my apartment. It turned you on…didn't it?"

I almost shout out for her to shut the hell up before my churning stomach empties itself but Dean groans, distracting me for just a second. "Get a room, you two."

"I didn't mind," Meg continues as if we aren't here. I glance back at Dean and he nods, well aware that I have a knife and I'm trying to get it out. I focus now, staring straight ahead instead of at Meg. "I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun."

"You want to have fun?" Sam responds. "Go ahead then. I'm a little tied up right now." I hear her giggle a little and then noises that suggest I _really_ don't want to look in that direction. It makes me move even faster, but my knife comes loose suddenly and drops to the floor, making a noise. Meg is already looking at me when I look up at her.

She stands, lipstick smudged, and starts walking toward me. I pick up the knife and try to shove it up my sleeve, but she kneels beside me and grabs my hand to stop me. I close my eyes, defeated, when she takes the knife from me. I hear the knife clatter on the other side of the room where she's thrown it before she appears beside me, smiling. She moves back to Sam and I slam my head back, pissed at myself.

"Sam," she whines, climbing right back on top of him. "Were you just trying to distract me while your little friend cut herself free?"

"No," Sam responds immediately. "No." I frown, wondering why he's bothering. Suddenly he smirks and says, "It's because I have a knife of my own." There's a snap when Sam's ropes break and he grabs Meg by the shoulders, slamming his head forward and into her face. They both yell out in pain, Sam grabbing his already injured head and Meg collapsing backward onto the floor.

We have seconds before she's back on her feet or the damn daevas respond and Sam is groaning in pain. "Sam!" I shout, demanding his attention. "Get the alter!" He stumbles to his feet and steps over Meg, moving across the room to the table. He pauses for just a second before flipping the entire thing over. Several items shatter and the candles are out instantly. My heart pounds while we wait, shadows moving quickly in the dim light from the street outside. Something is happening, I can feel the tension building…and then Meg screams.

She flips to her stomach and tries to scramble but her legs are tugged straight out behind her and she's pulled quickly across the floor. I watch her try desperately to grab onto anything at all while she screams out "no!" over and over. The screaming continues as she's dragged right through a window, the glass shattering and her voice fading as she falls and the sounds of Chicago come inside.

Sam hurries back to where his knife lays on the ground and cuts me free, the ropes snapping almost painfully on the raw skin where they've sat. He moves to Dean next, the three of us still quiet and searching the room with our eyes. After a second, it becomes apparent that nothing else is going to happen. Dean stands and walks to me, holding his hand down. I take it and let him help me, using a moment of quiet to rest my forehead against his chest while the emotions and adrenaline of the night start to fade. He holds the back of my head firmly, both of us taking a beat to breathe before moving apart and then to window where Sam is already standing, staring down at the street below us.

Meg is in the street, a pool of blood forming under her and one of her legs twisted in an unnatural way. She's not smirking, for once. "I guess the daevas didn't like being bossed around," I note.

Sam gives a short, harsh laugh and agrees, "Yeah, guess not."

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asks, putting an arm around my shoulders. "Next time you wanna be a dick…find a girl who's not so buckets of crazy, huh?" Sam looks down at his brother who flashes an unamused smile and then turns me to start walking away. I go with him, because I want to get out of here and because I don't want to be near Sam.

We walk down the stairs on our way out and are back in the Impala within minutes. Everyone is quiet on the ride back to the hotel. I don't know where Sam is at. Part of me wonders if he's sad about Meg turning out to be a psycho who wanted us all dead. I can feel Dean's disappointment, though. As much as he didn't want to get his hopes us, he wanted this to be the demon. Whatever Meg was up to, it doesn't make a lot of sense right now and I'm just too tired to think about it. We all have wounds to clean up and I am definitely grabbing dibs on the shower as soon as we're inside. I grab the duffel bag from the back seat and sling it over my shoulder before following the guys inside.

Dean glances over his shoulder at me as we reach the door of the hotel room. "Why didn't you just leave that stuff in the car?" he asks, motioning to the bag.

I don't realize it until he asks and I stop to think about it, but I'm still tense. My heart is still racing and I can feel adrenaline coursing through my veins. I'm not at ease yet; my body still thinks something is going to happen and I've been doing this too long not to trust that. I shrug and look up into green eyes that see right through me. "Better safe than sorry." Dean frowns just a bit but nods and unlocks the door.

He walks inside, putting the keys in his pocket and Sam follows me in, shutting the door behind him. I can sense the other person in the room before I see him and instinctively reach out for Dean, grabbing his jacket hard. Dean looks up, goes stiff and shoves an arm out in front of me. The other person, the stranger, is there, standing by the window with his back to us. "Hey!' Dean calls out.

I slip my hand into the duffel bag for a weapon just as the person turns around. With the light from the street now on his face, my heart skips a bit. John Winchester, scruffy and tired, stands across the room from us with a soft smile on his face. He looks at us like he's looking at a sunrise for the first time. "Dad?" Dean calls out, disbelief clouding his voice.

"Hey, boys," John responds. He looks at me and his smile grows just a little but he doesn't greet me out loud. Dean takes a sharp breath and turns, looking down at me and then up at Sam. I follow his gaze, finding that Sam is clearly shaken. I reach out to him, grasping his forearm and squeezing gently. We all stand there for a moment, kind of lost. John starts to move and Dean follows suit, meeting him in the middle of the room for a hug. Dean holds onto him for a long minute and John's fists grasp Dean's jacket like he can't get enough of him. They turn so that when they part, John's back is to Sam and me. I stay still, barely breathing, while Sam steps around me and toward his father.

John looks at his younger son, his back to me, and says, "Hi, Sam."

"Hey Dad." I can't read Sam's face but he's not crying or yelling and I take it as a win. John turns his back on his boys then to face me, that comforting as all hell smile on his face. I hold my breath, unsure of how he wants me to react to him…unsure of how I want to react. John always made me feel like I had to be at the top of my game, like I was a soldier in battle no matter what I was doing. He also made me feel special in a good way. And safe.

"Mackenzie Lynne," John breathes, taking a step toward me. When he opens his arms, I drop the duffel bag and ignore the hunter part of me to walk right into him. I inhale the scent of his leather jacket and let him hug me. He turns me around so that when we part, I'm standing with the guys. I take a step back from him, standing in between Sam and Dean.

"It was a trap," I admit, feeling the guilt hit me.

Dean puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "We didn't know. I'm sorry."

John shakes his head, smiling just a bit. "It's alright. I thought it might have been."

"Were you there?"

"Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive." I exhale hard, realizing that a minute later and John could've walked into a disaster – one that I failed to recognize and avoid. John smirks just a little and clarifies, "She was the bad guy, right?"

"Yes, sir." My answer comes instinctively and I hear two other voices say it at the same exact time, the three of us answering like the trained hunters we are.

John nods. "Good. Well, it doesn't surprise me. It's tried to stop me before." I blink confused and glance up at Dean to find him frowning as well. Sam shifts restlessly on my other side.

"The demon has?" he checks.

"It knows I'm close," John answers. His voice is firm, resolute. "It knows I'm gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to Hell. Actually kill it."

"How?" I ask, immediately intrigued and excited. That'd be a whole new level to the game we play with demons. We could really cause some shit for them.

John smiles down at me, dimples forming just above his beard which is longer than I've ever seen it. I can tell he knew I was going to ask but he doesn't really answer, telling me instead. "I'm working on that." I can't help a smile, knowing he'll figure it out.

"Let us come with you," Sam says, almost too eagerly. "We'll help." Now I know what John's response will be in advance but I can't help feeling a little twinge of disappointment when he shakes his head.

"No, Sam. Not yet." Sam exhales harshly. "Listen, try to understand." John doesn't often explain himself so we all wait, letting him talk. "This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don't want you caught in the crossfire. I don't want you hurt."

"Dad, you don't have to worry about us," Sam interjects.

John gives a soft laugh. "Of course I do. I'm your father." I look up at Sam, finding his eyes wet. He doesn't believe that John wanted to him again, ever. Now the man is standing in front of us – finally – trying to protect us…trying to protect Sam. "Listen, Sammy. The last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

"Yes, sir." I look back to John, finding his eyes wet, too. It feels almost awkward to be standing right there while they do this before Sam clasps my hand, preventing me from even thinking about moving away. I can feel him shaking so I hold on, squeezing him for comfort.

"It's good to see you again," John says softly. "It's been a long time."

Sam swallows hard and agrees, "Too long." He releases my hand to step forward and hug his father. I hear Sam sniffle and know that he's crying. Dean squeezes my shoulder where his hand still rests and pulls me to lean back against him, his arm coming across my collarbones to hold me against him. I let him hold me up a little, holding onto his forearm with both of my hands and smiling when I feel him kiss my head. We've waiting a long time for Sam to realize that John loves him so our embrace is one of mutual relief. For me, it's also gratitude that we made it through the night alive and I still have Dean to lean on – physically and otherwise.

Sam and John part, both of them straightening up in the way that men do to pretend that they weren't just getting emotional. John nods to himself and then looks down at me. I wait for him to say something but before he can, before I have any idea what's happening, he's flying away from us as if yanked backward by something we can't see. Suddenly, Sam is launched as well, hitting the ground with a hard thud.

"No!" Dean shouts, gripping me to his chest with both arms. He's not strong enough to hold me against the invisible force that grabs onto me. It occurs to me that this is the daeva just before I'm ripped from Dean and thrown. There's a full second when my feet are off the ground before I hit the opposite wall, drywall cracking with the force of contact. I feel myself sink at the impact, the ground hitting me just as hard as the wall. Dean was thrown in the other direction and went right through the coffee table. He grunts and folds like something hits him in the stomach but it's John's screams that draw my attention.

His head is jerking back and forth like something is wailing on him, something I can't see. His shirt tears in long time, blood seeping through the space as it rips into his chest, slowly drawing horrible sounds of pain from the Winchester I've never seen so much as groan. Dean tries to stand and is tossed, his face suddenly covered in long scratches from chin to forehead. Sam shouts out as something claws at him.

My eyes catch the duffel bag, inches from my hand and my instincts kick in, taking over the fear. "Shut your eyes!" I shout to them. Fortunately, I know exactly where I'm looking in the bag. "These things are shadow demons. So let's light 'em up!" I set the flare and light it, dropping it into the middle of the room where it grows to such an intensity that I'm instantly blinding. John's screams stop and there's an odd noise in the room before no one is being attacked anymore.

The next problem is the flare itself, quickly filling the room with smoke that burns inside my mouth and nose. I hear coughing and fumbling, a lamp breaking near me as I clamber to my feet with the duffel bag in hand. "Mack!"

"I'm OK," I tell Dean, coughing. "Where's John?"

"Dad?"

"Over here."

"I have him, go!" I don't argue, noting that Dean and John's voice came from similar places and lean into the wall, gasping for breath and choking while moving blind toward in the direction that I know the door should be in. A hand that I know is Sam's grabs the back of my jacket as I fumble on, tripping once on something I can't see. I don't fall only because Sam catches me around the waist. I'd thank him if I can breathe but it's all I can do to continue. Dean appears in front of me just before I reach the door, support John's weight on his shoulders. Sam and I follow Dean out into the hallway and then quickly outside where, finally, I can take a breath and fall into step behind them.

Sam is limping and I slow, grabbing him around the waist and forcing him to lean against me and use me as sort of crutch. Dean is handicapped in his movements by John as well but we make it quickly into the alley where the Impala, ever trustworthy, is waiting for us. Sam releases me, takes the duffel bag, and steps in front of everyone. "Alright, come on. We don't have much time." He opens the back door and throws it inside. "As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back."

He's motioning for everyone to get into the car and I panic, knowing that I have to stop. "No, Sam, wait, wait!" We can't…we just…

Dean is on the same page; he breathes, "Dad, you can't come with us."

"What?" Sam demands. "What are you talking about?"

John shakes his head and argues as well, "You boys, Kenzie, you're all beat to hell."

"We'll be alright," Dean tells him firmly. I can see the pain on his face and I know it's not from the fighting, the claw marks, the beating we took.

"Dean, we should stick together!" Sam protests. "We'll go after those demons – "

"Sam, listen to me!" Dean roars, cutting him off. "We almost got Dad killed in there. Don't you understand that?" Sam blinks at him, not understanding at all.

"They're not gonna stop," I chime in, shaking my head because it hurts to have to do this. I don't want John to leave, I don't want Sam to hurt. We have no choice, though. "They're gonna try again, they're gonna use us to get to him." I look up at John and add, "Meg was right. He's vulnerable with us around." John's gaze softens as he looks at me and I can see him coming to agree with me. I look up at Sam, hating the pain on his face. "Sam…he's stronger without us around."

Sam shakes his head and turns to John, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Dad, no." Dean turns away, grimacing like he can't bear to watch. I feel the tears start to spill from my eyes before I knew they'd be there. "After everything," Sam continues, voice cracking. "After all the time we spent looking for you, please. I've got to be a part of this fight."

"Sammy, this fight is just beginning and we're all gonna have a part to play," John answers firmly. I look up at him, desperate to know his plan and knowing better than to ask. "For now…you're gonna have to trust me, son. OK? You gotta let me go." I wince, hating this for Sam. There's a long pause, all of us waiting for Sam to make a choice. He glances down at me, face twisted with pain. I watch him take a breath and then use the hand on his Dad's shoulder to pat it once before releasing him.

John looks down at me and then at the boys before walking past us and toward his truck which is parked in front of the Impala. Sam and Dean come to either side of me, the three of us watching him walk away. He stops just before opening the door to the truck and turns back to us. "Be careful boys," he calls. "You take care of her." With that last warning, John disappears into the truck.

Dean is moving immediately. "C'mon." He pulls open the front door and motions for me to get in. I climb across the front seat while Sam walks around the back of the car and then gets into the front of the other side. I'm a little sore but Dean's pain as he climbs behind the wheel beside me is evident. I'm distracted by the roar of the truck and then taillights, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sam and Dean as we watch John drive away. He turns left at the top of the alley and I look up at Dean, finding green eyes meeting mine. I turn and look up at Sam who looks at me and then his brother. There's nothing else to do now.

Dean starts the engine and reverses to the other end of the alley, pulling out and driving in the opposite direction that John took. I slide down just a little and settle back into the leather, letting Baby's purr soothe my soul while my body throbs.

This night is going to require a lot of soothing.


	19. 1x17: Hell House

Chapter 17

It's been rainy for days, our entire way south and the whole time we've been in Texas. I'd love to see the sun sometime soon. "Blue Oyster Cult, nice," I approve when Dean finally stops changing radio stations. He catches my gaze and gives me a smirk, nodding his approval of my taste in music. I can't help but return his smile. The wounds on his face have healed and everyone is themselves again. A loud snore from Sam, passed out and catching flies in the front seat, further proves that.

Dean looks down at his brother and I can see the wheels start turning in his head, making me curious and cautious all at once. He leans forward a little, reaching for something and still glancing at Sam. "What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Shh." He shifts a little and brings his arm up to rest on the back of the seat where it's level with Sam's face. There's a white plastic spoon in his hand and I immediately see his game plan. I have to wonder how long the spoon has been there since we haven't needed spoons in a while but I don't say anything. Dean gets the spoon all the way into Sam's mouth and leaves it there without Sam being even the slightest bit disturbed.

I can't help a laugh and Dean's proud smile only makes me giggle harder. "Wait, we need a picture," I encourage, pulling out my phone. Dean laughs quietly as I lean over the seat in between them to get a great angle on Sleeping Beauty.

When I sit back to text the picture to Dean for posterity, he catches my gaze in the mirror again. The mischievous twinkle hasn't faded so I know he's not done. "Like Blue Oyster Cult huh?" he asks. With that he leans forward and suddenly cranks the music up, making Sam jerk away. Instantly, Sam is swatting at his own face, panicked by finding something in his mouth. The spoon flies and Dean laughs hard, drumming out the end of the song on the steering wheel.

"Ha ha," Sam grumbles, leaning over to turn the radio back down to a normal volume. "Very funny." I laugh but he doesn't and I don't particularly care.

Dean is still chuckling when he offers, "Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas; kinda gotta make your own."

Sam scowls at him. "Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean! And we're not gonna start that crap up again."

"Start what up?" Dean asks, feigning innocence that a blind man could see through.

"That prank stuff! It's stupid and it always escalates."

Now I laugh and Dean teases his brother, "Aw what's the matter, Sammy? You afraid you're gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again?" I can't help the laughter that explodes from at the idea, finding that way too funny to care about Sam's bitch face. Finally, Sam shakes his head.

"Alright. Just remember you started it." He looks over his shoulder towards me and adds, "That goes for you too."

"Oh ho bring it on baldy," I quip, earning a hearty laugh from Dean and yet another bitch face from the other Winchester. As Sam turns back around, I stretch my arms over my head and look through the window. "Where are we anyway?" A good sense of direction is not my strong suit.

"A few hours outside of Richardson," Dean answers.

I frown and press, "And what are we doing here? Give me the low down again." Sam found and suggested this particular case; Dean and I agreed without question out of sheer boredom. I tend to like Texas, anyway.

Sam grabs a printed sheet from the dashboard and looks down at it even though I know he has the details memorized. "Alright, about a month or two ago, a group of kids go poking around this local haunted house."

"Haunted by what?" Dean interrupts.

"Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit. Legend goes it takes girls and strings 'em up in the rafters." I raise my eyebrows, mildly interested. "Anyway, these kids see this dead girl hanging up in the cellar."

"Anybody ID the corpse?" I ask.

"Well that's the thing: by the time the cops got there, the body was gone. So, the cops think these kids are just yanking their chain."

I'm immediately much less interested and can tell Dean is skeptical too from the way he says, "Cops may be right."

"Maybe," Sam allows. "But I read a couple of the kids firsthand accounts. They seem pretty sincere."

I frown and ask, "Where did you read these accounts?" It's unlikely to be something that the cops would release if they didn't think there was anything to the case. Dean glances over at Sam who's quiet for a beat.

He laughs a little and admits, "Well, I knew we were gonna be passing through Texas so last night I surfed some local paranormal websites and I found one." I roll my eyes, annoyed and now done with the case.

"And what's it called?" Dean asks.

Sam laughs again, at himself I think. " ." Dean lets out a breath through his lips, clearly as unimpressed as I am.

"Let me guess," I suggest. "Steaming live outta Mom's basement."

Sam laughs heartily now, his mood much improved from when he woke up with the spoon in his mouth. I curse myself for enjoying the sound of his laugh. "Yeah, probably."

"Yeah, most of the those sites wouldn't know a ghost if it bit 'em in the persqueeter."

I frown and ask Dean, "In the what?"

"I'll tell ya when you're older," he jokes, making Sam laugh again. I lean forward and flick Dean in the ear, only making him laugh too. _Jerks_.

"Look," Sam breathes, getting serious again. "We let Dad take off – which was a mistake, by the way – and now we don't know where the hell he is. So, meantime, we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There's no harm in checking this out." I raise my eyebrows, mostly just surprised to hear Sam say that he's interested in a hunt for once. I wasn't sure we'd ever get him moving again without John.

Dean gives a nod and agrees, "Alright. So where do we find these kids?"

Now I laugh because I know the answer to that one. "Same place you always find kids in a town like this."

 **…** **Rodeo Drive Diner, 3 Hours Later…**

The little diner full of teenagers and young adults is a true country dive. It smells like grease and not in a good way. Dean, of course, is hungry but I just want to get down to business. Fortunately, the kids aren't too secretive and we have no problem finding the kids who visited the house. There are three of them here tonight and we take our time, talking to each of them in turn.

Outside, we meet up with the first of the boys. He's clearly a little over-eager to tell the story and describes a house with black walls and symbols painted in blood, a blonde girl hanging in the basement and kicking fiercely. Second is the only girl who was part of the little adventure to the haunted house and she's kind of everything I hate about girls my age, including the scowl permanent on her face. She tells us about the symbols too but then admits she had her eyes closed a lot. The girl in her story was a redhead, already dead when they arrived. The third boy is working at the diner, his uniform complete with a paper hat. This kid tell us that the walls were painted red and the girl was a brunette.

"Did he actually say pentacostals were painted on the walls?" I demand, confused and annoyed as we make our way back out.

"He called the dead girl hot," Sam mutters, discouraged as well.

"This is insane," Dean growls as we get back to the Impala. "Nothing about their stories matched – I'm not sure they went to the same house."

"There was one thing they all told us – their friend Craig was the one who told them about the house." I shrug and suggest, "I think we need to talk to Craig." Since the kids told us that he owns a record shop, we agree to just go in the morning and get dinner from the diner before heading back to the hotel for the night.

It's been more than a little strained for the last few weeks. Sam is moping, throwing out comments about his Dad whenever he can. I know that he's calling John a lot, too but John doesn't answer or return his calls. Dean is stressed about a demon being about his dad and not being able to do anything about it; he's still beating himself up about walking into a trap. I feel like I'm walking around with an open wound. What happened with Sam and Meg, getting caught in a trap, having to split up with John…I'm feeling completely raw.

It doesn't help to watch Dean start wearing John's leather jacket even if it looks like it was made for him. I hate knowing that he's hurting. I try reaching out to him a few times and realize after the fact that he's done the same for me, both of us trying to get the other to feel better and both of us failing for the most part. I think we both need to get back to work, so we jumped when Sam had something for us…not that might be nothing, too.

Sam is another problem altogether for me. We haven't talked about Meg. He behaved like a jerk, yes, but I'm ashamed of my jealous behavior too. We actually haven't talked much at all, really, when it wasn't about John or something that involved work. I want things to be normal between us and I know that the tension is my fault but I don't know how to fix it. I feel the weight of both Sam and Dean's emotions, all of the fights that we're facing all at once, and right now it's all weighing down just a little too hard.

Something needs to change and I want it to happen soon, before I go crazy.

Back at the hotel room, after eating one of the worst burgers I've ever had, I find myself in front of the mirror outside the bathroom. There's a stubborn scar from the daeva under my eye which doesn't seem to want to fade as well as the others, and definitely not as well as the guys who are completely healed up and beautiful again – damn them. Jim, who isn't happy about us going at a daeva alone and has some strong words about John, suggest vitamin E so I've started using the liquid inside the vitamins we bought from a store.

Sam appears in the mirror beside me as I'm dabbing it into my skin. He picks up his toothbrush but doesn't start brushing his teeth, so I glance at him in the mirror and find him watching me. "It is helping," Sam offers, referring to the vitamin E.

"Thanks."

"Have you, uh…" He swallows and shifts a little. "Have you considered using it on the scars on your shoulders?" It's a reasonable question so I hate that I get a tiny bit angry in response and take a breath to calm down.

"Not really. Nothing else has ever worked on them, so…kind of gave up, I think." I shrug, realizing that Sam couldn't understand that but he nods anyway. He goes ahead with brushing his teeth and when I'm finished, I head back to where Dean is watching something stupid on TV. I throw myself across his bed, at the feet, and smile over my shoulder at him when he nudges my back playfully with bare feet. Sam joins us and sits on the other bed, actually watching TV with us instead of reading or getting onto his laptop. I even hear him laugh at the movie a couple of times.

Dean falls asleep before the movie is even over, on top of the blankets, and we leave him alone. I climb into bed and am immediately hauled backward by the waist so that I'm tucked in against Sam's chest and under his chin. "Those burgers were awful and the movie was worse," he mutters into my hair. I laugh and can feel him smile.

"Is it terrible that I really want this case to turn out to be something…just to get all of us back on track?" It's hard for me to voice that out loud because I don't want Sam to judge me. It's comforting when he squeezes me a little.

"I feel the same way – what do you think I scanned paranormal website for?" I laugh again, letting my eyes close as sleep weighs in heavily. "Let's hope this town has a ghost." I send up a quick prayer – the first time I've ever prayed for something like that – before falling into a sound sleep.

 **…** **Craig's Record Shop, Next Morning…**

Craig works at a record shop in town and while a glance around suggests an eclectic collection, the metal playing over the speakers a little too loudly gives away the owner's preference. A scrawny guy with a baby face, shuffling through a few records in his hands. He does a double take when he sees us and then pauses. "Gentlemen…pretty lady…can I help you with anything?" he asks.

I fight not to roll my eyes and hear Sam clear his throat. "Yeah, are you Craig Thursten?" Dean asks. The kid puffs himself up a little and says that he is. "We're reporters with Dallas Morning News – I'm Dean, this is Mackenzie. Sam here is our, uh, roadie."

Craig gets excited, not noticing the barb at Sam. "Oh yeah? You know, I'm a writer, too." He looks at me and raises his eyebrows, announcing, "I write for my school's lit magazine." Clearly, he wants me to be impressed. It'd help if I wasn't almost taller than him.

I force a smile and quip, "Oh, good for you Morrison." I don't feel like chit chat today so I turn away and start to browse one of the bins of records. The guys cover the silence for me.

"We're doing an article on local hauntings," Sam says. "Rumor has it you might know about one."

Craig pauses for just long enough to make me look up. "You mean the hell house?"

"That's the one."

"I didn't think there was anything to the story," he admits, shaking his head slowly like he still doesn't really believe what he saw.

I lean over the records, resting my forearms on the pile Craig carried out, and suggest, "Why don't you tell us the story?" Craig looks at me for a beat and then around the shop, making sure no one else is near us or that his boss isn't watching. He takes a breath and seems to calm down a little, going back to work organizing the records – without making me move – while telling us what he knows.

"Well, supposedly, back in the 30s this farmer called Mordecai Murdoch used to live in the house with his six daughters." He looks up at notes, "It was during the Depression. His crops were failing and he didn't have enough money to feed his own children. So…" He shrugs. "I guess that's when he went off the deep end?"

I frown and Dean asks for me, "How?"

"Well, they say he figured it was better if his girls died quick rather than starve to death," he explains. "So he attacked them. He screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung them up – one after another. And then when it was all finished, he turned around and hung himself." Craig shakes his head a little and starts moving again, taking a few records off to another bin. "Now they say his spirit is trapped inside the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside."

If the story is true, it's definitely something that could create a dangerous spirit.

"Where did you hear all this?" Sam asks.

"My cousin Dana told me." Craig shakes his head and answers the next question before we ask it: "I don't know where she heard it from." He shoves his hands into his pockets and rushes on, "You gotta realize, I didn't believe any of this for a second."

"Now you do," I note, watching the way he's growing more uncomfortable by the second. At the very best, I believe that this kid actually did see something in the house even if his friends made no sense.

Craig looks at me, his eyes wide and his breathing a little faster now. "I don't know what the hell to think," he admits. He looks between all of us. "You guys, I'll tell you exactly what I told the police. That girl was real and she was dead. This is not a prank, I swear." His tone is urgent, genuine, like he's desperate for us to believe. Craig shudders a little and then looks down, shaking his head fervently. "I just don't want to go into that house ever again."

We exchange glances and I can see that we're all on the same page which means we're headed for what Craig called the Hell House now. It takes us about forty five minutes to get there and then we have to walk for a couple miles through a desolate area of woods and what used to be fields. It's a rainy, crappy, cloudy day which only adds to the dark appearance of the house that we end up approaching. The thing is old and in disarray. It's exactly the kind of house you think of when you think of a haunted house.

"Can't say I blame the kid for not wanting to come back here," Sam notes as we approach, our boots squelching loudly through the mud.

"Yeah, so much for curb appeal," Dean quips. I give a short laugh, appreciating his humor when we're in tense or crappy situations. The closer we get the more I dislike the place and I wonder what could convince a group of kids to go inside a place with vibes like this. We start by looking around the outside a little and I circle the whole building, finding a lot of broken windows and bad foundation. Sam is looking through a window at the front when I come back and Dean has an EMF out that he scowling at.

"You got something?" I ask.

He flicks the front of the EMF – a new one that I bought for him – and says, "EMF is no good." He motions toward a transformer on an electrical pole only about ten feet from us. "I think that thing still has some juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings."

"Damnit, that'd do it." Dean puts the EMF back into his pocket and starts toward the front door and I match his stride, more than a little curious about this place. The house is in even worse shape on the inside and definitely creepy. In the living room, we find white walls that are spray painted instead of black walls covered in blood. There have definitely been other kids in here, putting whatever random symbols they knew and thought might spook their friends on the walls. "I guess old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger in his time."

"Yeah, and after his time, too." I turn to where Sam's standing near a fireplace. He points to one wall and notes, "The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries but the Sigil of Sulphur didn't show up in San Francisco until the 60s."

Dean scoffs. "This is exactly why I'm better with girls." I don't want to laugh but can't help it and shrug innocently to apologize. Sam just shakes his head and doesn't seem upset as he takes pictures of the symbols on his phone. Dean has already moved on though and calls, "Hey what about this one? Either of you nerds every see this one before?"

I follow him and stand at his side. We're looking up at an odd, unfamiliar symbol. There's a circle with a line above and to the right and left of it. Extending below the circle is a hook, kind of like an upside down question mark. "No. Have you?"

"Yeah…somewhere." I can tell that Dean is bothered by it, trying to place where he's seen it, but it doesn't strike a chord with me. I think he might have mistaken it for something else. Sam comes over and takes a picture, not saying that he recognizes it either.

The tallest of us reaches over the chest under the symbol and runs his finger along one of the lines. "It's paint." When he brings his finger back, there are traces of red paint on it. "Seems pretty fresh, too."

Dean sighs and turns away from us, taking a few steps toward the middle of the room. "I don't know, Sammy," he calls. "I mean, I hate to agree with authority figures of any kid but…the cops might be right about this one." I'm starting to lean that way myself. Kids have been in here frequently, trying to scare one another it seems.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam agrees. The words are barely out of his mouth when, from somewhere in the house, there's a noise like something being dropped. Dean takes the lead, long strides over taking mine as we move through an empty dining room and approach a door. Something is definitely moving around on the other side. The two of them take spots on either side of the doorway and Dean nods at me. I angle my body just right and launch my leg forward, taking the door down with one quick kick.

Immediately I'm blinded, flashlights glaring into my face while the people holding them start yelling as well. Dean's rough hands grab me by the shoulders and pull me away, all three of us trying to shield our eyes from the lights. Finally it's gone and I can see again just as someone yells, "Cut!"

The two guys in front of us are not what I expected. First, they aren't ghosts or demons or monsters of any kind. Second, they aren't kids. These two are in their twenties, carrying heavy duty flashlights and bags that look heavy. The one with glasses and a beard is also carrying a camera. He scowls at us, clearly annoyed, and announces, "It's just a couple humans!"

The other one, smaller and clean shaven with dark hair and a mousy voice asks, "What are you guys doing here?"

Dean demands in response, "What the hell are you doing here?"

The nerds exchange glances and puff themselves up visible, turning to give the three of us some of the cockiest looks I've ever seen – and that's saying something considering all the time I spend with Dean Winchester. "Uh, we belong here. We're professionals," the bearded one informs us.

He actually sounds like he takes himself seriously and I can't stop myself from laughing. "Professionals of what?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and oh so interested in hearing the answer. Unfortunately, the question draws their attention to me and I have to spend several seconds getting checked out rather blatantly. When Dean clears his throat possessively, they both jump and seem to gather themselves.

The bearded nerd spreads his arms a little like the answer should be obvious. When he answers, I swear I could die. "Paranormal Investigators." Dean turns and gives me a mock impressed look, nodding slowly and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Bearded Nerd goes into his pocket and pulls out a business card that's clearly been used over and over. "Here you go," he says, flicking it out towards me with a dramatic flourish. "Take a look at that, beautiful."

"Yeah, I don't think so," I tell him, letting Dean snatch the card from him instead. The three of us look at the card, simple and super nerdy as expected.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Dean mutters. I look up at them over the card, finding Tiny Nerd looks cocky and Bearded Nerd is downright beaming at me.

"Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler," Sam reads, a smirk on his face and amusement clear in his tone. Tiny Nerd points to each of them in turn, identifying himself as Harry and the other as Ed. Good names for trolls. " . You guys run that website." They both nod repeatedly as if waiting for the praise to start.

Dean begins to saunter toward them. "Oh, yeah, yeah, we're huge fans." He passes them and goes to check out the rest of the kitchen, turning his back to all of us.

The bearded one, Ed, announces, "And, uh, we know who you guys are, too."

I laugh again and cross my arms. "Oh, yeah?"

He shrugs. "Amateurs, looking for ghosts and cheap thrills." I cabinet that Dean opens creaks and I bite my tongue again before I end up biting one of the nerds.

"So, if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here," Harry tells us, actually going so far as to rise up a little onto his toes. At least he's taller than me that way. I glance up at Sam who just raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah? What d'ya got so far?" Dean calls from the other side of the room.

Ed doesn't mean a bit and suggests, "Harry, why don't you tell 'em about EMF?"

Sam plays along. "EMF?" he asks innocently.

That really gets Harry going and he does a little bit of preening as he answers, "Electro Magnetic Field." Sam and I exchange glances again and I can tell he's trying as hard as I am to keep from laughing. Harry goes to the counter as he explains, "Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here." He turns it on and brings it back over to us.

The thing starts making soft noises, high pitched enough to confirm that the readings are being disturbed by the electricity still running. Ed and Harry, however, get themselves all kinds of excited. "Whoa, whoa," Ed breathes, coming to Harry's side so that they can stare down at the little box together. Now I actually have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing, Dean's face behind them not helping at all. "Two point eight MJ," Ed mutters.

They both start looking around like they expect something to just pop out and Harry takes on a dramatic tone when he breathes, "It's hot in here." The look that he gives me after is downright nauseating.

"Wow," Sam breathes. They turn it off and Dean clears his throat again, coming back over to us.

"So, have you guys ever really seen a ghost before or…?" Ed and Harry exchange serious glances and then nod at each other before Ed looks back to Dean.

"Once." I throw my elbow into Sam's side, desperate to gain some control over myself before I fall into hysterics. He reaches out and grabs my wrist, squeezing to let me know that he's struggling as well. "We, uh, we were investigating this old house. And we saw a vase fall right off a table."

Harry leans toward us and adds, "By itself."

I was just so close to being impressed somewhere deep down inside me when Ed starts stammering as he back pedals. "Well we-we-we didn't actually see it but…we heard it." He looks right at me and nearly whispers, "And something like that? It changes you."

"Oh, dear God," is all that I can manage. Fortunately or unfortunately, Ed takes it as praise and nods firmly.

"Well, I think I get the picture," Dean announces. He turns to Sam and I says pointedly, "We should go, let them get back to work."

As he starts to leave the room, Harry chimes in, "Yeah, you should." I turn and follow Dean, Sam coming along behind me. We barely get out of the room before I hear Ed say, "Sorry. That pot we smoked gave me the giggles."

Somehow, maybe only by the grace of God, we manage to hold it together until we get out of the house. I'm in tears from laughter by the time we get back to the car.

 **…** **2 Hours Later…**

Annoyed and hungry, I emerge from the Collin County Public Library to find Sam and Dean already waiting for me outside. Dean straightens from the wall when he sees me and calls, "Hey, what do you got?" I appreciate that he assumes I found something but I'm going to have to let him down this time.

"Well, I didn't find a Mordecai but I did turn up a Martin Murdoch," I tell them as we start walking down the street together. "He lived in the house in the 30s and he did have children…2 of them, both boys. Also, there's no record of him ever killing anyone." Sam sighs deeply and I ask, "What about you guys?"

"Those kids didn't really give us a clear description of the dead girl, but we hit up the police station," Dean tells me as we cross a street to where the Impala is parked. "No matching missing persons. It's like she never existed." Now it's my turn to sigh and lean against the door of the car.

Sam looks dejected but it's time to face the music. "Sam we did our digging; this one is a bust."

Dean chimes in, "Yeah, for all we know those Hellhound guys made up the legend." It's definitely possible considering how much they liked telling us about themselves and their…profession.

"Yeah, alright," Sam agrees, exhaling roughly. He doesn't like it and I don't blame him.

"I say we find ourselves a bar and some beer and leave the legend to the locals." With his idea out, Dean gives us a wink and climbs into the Impala. I move for the door handle but Sam stops me and leans down, smirking as he looks through the window. Inside the car, Dean starts the engine and even from outside, I can hear the trumpet that starts blaring immediately as the windshield wipers go off simultaneously. Dean jumps right out of his skin and yells, smacking the radio twice to make the music stop while Sam dissolves into adorable and contagious giggles.

Sam opens the door finally as Dean gets the car under control and I get into the back, shaking my head while the younger Winchester gives himself a point on an invisible scoreboard in the air. Dean frowns at him and asks seriously, "That's all you got? That's weak. That is bush league." Sam doesn't seem to care and continues laughing as Dean gets the car in gear and takes off, sending me back into the leather as he floors it.

 **…** **Next Morning…**

We're woken up early by the police scanner in the morning, informing us that there's something going on at the Hell House. By the time we get there, a small crowd has gathered and someone is in a body bag. We approach a middle aged guy and Dean asks casually, "What happened?"

He opens up as quickly as we've come to expect in these situations and answers, "Couple of cops said that poor girl hung herself in there." My stomach flops and I look up at Dean feeling disbelief wash over me.

"Suicide?" Sam clarifies.

"Yeah." The man shakes his head and continues, "And she was a straight A student with a full ride to UT. It just don't make sense." With that he shudders a little and starts to move away. We turn away from the crowd and get some distance for privacy, my mind racing.

Dean looks over my head at the house, his expression grim, and I ask him, "What do you think?"

He glances down at me, frowning. "I think maybe we missed something." The idea isn't one that we can take lightly. We missed something and someone is dead, potentially because of that. We shouldn't have let the nerds drive us out yesterday. We leave with a plan to return tonight and I feel more ramped up than usual, determined to right our mistakes.

 **…** **After Midnight…**

When we approach the house this time, it's quite a bit different from the last and I have to do one of my least favorite things – sneak around in the dark, in the woods. I'm not exactly graceful as it is and I really don't want to spend the entire night falling on my face. Fortunately, we get close enough for a solid view before I hurt myself. Cops are everywhere, two different cruisers parked and four or five officers walking around the premises, shining their flashlights into the woods around us. We crouch and wait, silent. "Guess the cops don't want any more kids screwing around in there," Sam notes.

It's too little, too late…so are we.

"Yeah, but we still gotta get in there," Dean grumbles.

The distinct sound of someone saying 'ow' catches my attention and I turn my head toward the sound. It takes me a minute to figure out what I'm watching. "I don't believe it," I hear myself say, thinking out loud. Sam and Dean follow my gaze, the three of us watching Harry and Ed – investigators extraordinaire – approach wearing full camo gear and heavy duty night vision goggles. The goggles either aren't on or aren't working judging by how often they keep slipping.

"I got an idea," Dean announces suddenly before creeping off into the darkness.

"His ideas make me nervous," I note, turning to keep an eye on the cops and make sure they aren't noticing us. I glance back to Dean, finding him halfway between us and the nerds before he stands a little straighter.

"Who ya gonna call?" he yells, drawing every cops attention in the direction. A blind guy could see the idiots in their outfits so it's not surprising when they all start running in that direction, the nerds turning and taking off as well. I catch Sam's grin but hurry, the three of us catching up on the porch and moving quickly inside before the cops return. Dean shuts the door behind us and Sam opens the duffel bag on the floor.

He holds two shotguns up over his shoulders and Dean and I each take one, pumping them simultaneously. Sam primes his own and I toss Dean the flashlight from inside my jacket without checking to see if he's waiting to catch it first. I just know that he is – one of the benefits of working with the same team for so long.

Dean makes a bee line across the room and shines the beam on the upside down question mark symbol over the fireplace. "Damnit, where have I seen this symbol before?" he grumbles, frowning at it. "It's killing me."

"Come on," I urge him. "We don't have much time." I lead them out of the living room where we do a quick sweep of the first floor before finding a basement door. It wasn't long ago, when we first started working together, when arriving at a door that might hide dangers would have caused an argument about whether or not I could and should go first. Now, Dean takes his place at my side and nods when I reach for the door, the two of them following me down the stairs.

The root cellar is spacious and all that space has created massive dust, in the air and on every surface. I can see a few pieces of old furniture, shelves containing God knows what, and a few rooms off to our right. I pull my smaller flashlight out and move toward one of the rooms, my gun at my side but my finger on the trigger so that I'm ready. This room is completely empty, the walls all stone and the ceiling just wooden rafters – the rafters that the ghost in the legend hangs girls from.

"Hey, Mack." I turn to Dean who's standing at the shelves, smirking down at a jar in his hand. It's full of a reddish liquid with something unrecognizable floating within it. "I dare you to take a swig of this."

I blink at him, confused. "What the hell would I do that for?"

Dean just turns to smile at me, raising his eyebrows in a challenge. "I double dare you." I'd be lying if I said that didn't get me considering it, just a little, something that Dean probably knew about me before suggesting it. Fortunately, I'm saved from having to make a decision on that by a noise on the other end of the basement.

Dean flies into business mode, putting the jar down and overtaking me with long strides, all of three of us with our shotguns up and ready. I listen to the steady thrum of my heart and keep my ears perked for any noise outside of that, following Dean to a cabinet that he's frowning at. Another scuffling sound and I know that he's right, the mystery noisemaker is behind the wooden doors.

Sam moves beside it, holding his barrel so that whatever pokes out is going to have a shell full of salt right in the head. Dean motions his head, knowing that I'll come to his side. He holds steady, aiming at the cabinet, and I have to lower my own weapon to open the doors. I take a breath, adrenaline pumping, and dive forward to yank the doors open before leaping back to get the hell out of the way.

The squeaking starts immediately, six or seven furry little bodies and long tails scrambling under the beams of our lights. Sam laughs, relieved, as Dean groans, "I hate rats."

I frown up at him and ask, "You'd rather it was a ghost?"

"Yes." I chuckle at him and roll my eyes, the motion letting me catch something behind him. Dean spins before I even realize what I'm looking at and the being becomes clear under the beam of his flashlight. The spirit is there, red eyed and pissed off, holding a huge ax over his head – none of which fits the legend. I don't have a lot of time to think about that right now and get the first shot off, expecting the thing to fade. My throat tightens when it doesn't – not even a little.

Sam shoots and then Dean, the spirit finally dissolving but not in the right way…in the way that suggests it's coming right back. "What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?" Sam shouts, clearly just as freaked out as I am.

"I don't know – come on, come on!" Dean responds, motioning for all of us to get the hell out of here. It's a great idea and I pump my shot gun before falling into step with them. I see it before they do, the spirit again and this time on the other side of the shelves. He's glaring right at Dean and I dive, tackling him from around the waist just as the axe comes crashing through the shelves sending glass and wood flying everywhere.

I barely manage to look up before it's around the shelves and taking aim at Sam's head. He blocks it with his shot gun and yells, "Go, go!" I scramble to my feet, Dean's arm at my elbow, and we run for the stairs. Sam manages to duck from the next blow so that the axe hits the circuit box instead of him and then he's right behind me on the stairs. I know that the spirit is chasing and the guys do too so we charge through the house, Dean turning his shoulder and plowing through the front door instead of taking the time to undo the deadbolt. He stumbles from the momentum and I crash into him, the two of us taking a very ungraceful swan dive off of the porch and through the caution tape. Sam is there, literally lifting me and planting me back on my feet.

We don't stop there, knowing that between the spirit and the cops we need to get the hell out of here so when I see Harry and Ed in front of us – open mouthed and filming us – I want nothing more than to smack them. When I hear them start yelling, I know they've finally seen a real ghost and can't help but hope they shit themselves.

 **…** **Morning, Hotel Room…**

My eyes are getting tired and the coffee that's gone cold in its Styrofoam cup is doing nothing to help me. The only break that I had all night was forty five minutes to talk to Jim and that wasn't much of a break. I gave him the rundown of what happened in Chicago but then John called him and told him everything that happened in Chicago. He's my dad, so he's worried, and he's Jim so he's trying not to hover. It was tough to hear him so far away when I could really use the comfort of being home right now. Maybe I'll talk the guys into another break when we're done here.

That is, if we ever get done here. This job is nothing but annoying and the though makes me toss the book aside. I glance over to the other mattress and find that Dean has quit on his book as well, instead scowling down at a notepad that he's drawing on. He knows that I'm watching him and taps his pen impatiently against the notepad. "What the hell is this symbol?" he grumbles. "It's the bugging the hell outta me."

I scoff. "This whole damn job is bugging the hell out of me."

Dean catches my gaze and nods firmly, getting himself on a roll. "Yeah, I thought the legend said Mordecai only went after chicks."

"It does," Sam confirms, his back to us while he clicks away on his laptop.

"I mean, that'd explain why he went after you Sam but why me?" Dean adds, clearly not feeling too unlike himself. I can't help a smirk though I'm glad Sam's back is to us and can't see me do it.

"Hilarious," comes the monotone response from the younger Winchester. Sam continues, "Legend also says that he hung himself but did you guys see those slit wrists?" I frown for a moment, thinking back on it. When I picture Mordecai with the axe over his head, Dean's flashlight beam illuminating him, I remember the slashes and know that Sam is right. That only makes things weirder though.

"And the axe, too," I mutter. "I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict. They follow a pattern, a routine. This guy…it's like his mood keeps changing. It doesn't work with the way the story goes."

Dean shakes his head but Sam sits up straighter suddenly. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"Someone added a post on the hellhound site last night," he tells us. "Listen to this. They say Mordecai Murdoch was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in the house for eternity."

So now, as of last night, the legend does match the story. Or at least the new story. It's like it changed with the website…something is eating at me, I know that I'm on to something. "Where the hell is this going?" I breathe, barely even aware that I said it out loud.

Dean sits forward suddenly, pointing at me though he's not looking at me. "I don't know, but I think I just figured out where it all started." He flashes me a grin and puts the notepad down, jumping off of the mattress and rushing me and Sam up. We're in the Impala with no explanation and then at the record shop where Craig works again.

I glance at Sam who looks just as lost and we walk inside, Dean practically strutting now. Craig is sitting at the little desk off to the side of the room, rubbing his face with his hands. Dean's voice makes him freeze. "Hey Craig. Remember us?"

He takes a deep breath and lets his hands fall. Craig looks a lot more exhausted than he did the last time that we were here and it catches my interest. "Guys, look, I'm really not in the mood to answer any more of your questions, OK?"

"Oh, no don't worry – don't worry," Dean waves him off casually. "We're just here to buy an album, that's all." Craig watches us for a second but then stands and head up the couple of steps to the other level of the shop, flipping through one of the bins. Dean has started doing the same, definitely looking for something specific and as soon as he finds it, this whole little mission clicks for me.

Dean shows us the album cover and then starts walking toward Craig. "You know, I couldn't figure out what that symbol was. And then I realized," he continues, walking up the stairs so that he can stand directly behind Craig. "It doesn't mean anything. It's a logo for the Blue Oyster Cult." That gets Craig's attention and he freezes in place while Sam and I approach. "Tell me, Craig. You into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?"

Craig turns and sits down on the edge of the bin, looking defeated. He's lucky he's not looking bruised since I'd really like to take a swing at him right now. Still I feel distracted. There's something about this whole thing…Dean's voice brings me back to reality. "Now why don't you tell us about that house without lying through your ass this time?"

The little dweeb practically deflates but he finally starts talking. "My cousin, Dana, was on break from TCU. I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do, so I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it'd be funny if we made it look like it was haunted." Sam shifts restlessly on his feet, signaling his annoyance. "So we painted symbols on the walls. Some from some albums, some from Dana's theology textbooks."

He takes another breath and continues, "Then we found out this guy Murdoch used to live there so we made up some story to go along with that. So, they told people who told other people and then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just kind of took on a life of its own."

 _A life of it's own…_ We're missing something. There's something right in front of us, I can feel it but…Craig continues, "I thought it was funny at first but now that girl's dead?" He's clearly ripped up over the thing but it doesn't sound like he did much harm. Not on purpose anyway. Craig looks right at me, imploring, "It was just a joke! None of it was real – we made the whole thing up, I swear." I nod because I believe him. I just wish I understood.

Dean clears his throat and turns to walk away, Sam and me following him. I wish I hadn't had so much coffee so I can think straight. "If none of it was real, how do we explain Mordecai?" Dean whispers to us on the way out. I'm almost there, I know I am, so I'm glad when we get back to the hotel and I can dive into research. Sam joins me for a bit but then jumps into the shower.

When Dean grabs his jacket, I glance up. "Where are you going?"

He doesn't answer, just gives me a big smile and a wink on his way out the door. Fortunately for Dean, I've found what I'm looking for and I slide right into a major roll. Everything is finally coming together and just when I want him to come back, Dean returns. I open my mouth to start telling him everything I know but the smirk on his face distracts me. "What did you do?"

"Don't get naked with Sammy until he gets another shower," he tells me. I grimace, disturbed by Dean talking about my sex life, and only understand when he holds up a small red package and shakes it.

"Itching powder?" I clarify. Dean chuckles to himself, clearly thrilled, and heads right for Sam's clothes which he's laid on the bed – type A freak that he is. I refuse to watch and be called an accomplice but I can hear Dean at work, giggling to himself. The shower turns off and Dean jumps away, shoving the packet back into his jacket and backing toward the door just before the door opens.

Sam notices Dean's jacket and asks, "Where'd you go?"

"Out."

I'm exploding and part of me doesn't really want Sam to catch on to Dean's little prank too soon so I tell him, "I think I have a theory about what's going on. What if Mordecai is a tulpa?"

Sam spins toward me and repeats, "A tulpa?" I'm instantly distracted when I finally look at him, my mouth going dry. Sam's body has only gotten better since we started working regularly this year. I didn't know shoulders could be sexy but…damn. The water dripping from his hair over his pecs and abs is…

Both Sam and Dean are staring at me so I clear my throat, feeling the heat rush into my face. "Yeah it's, uh, a Tibetan though form."

Sam nods. "Yeah, I know what a tulpa is."

Before we can discuss it any further, Dean claps his hands together and suggests, "Sammy, get dressed. I'm starving, let's go talk about it over dinner." He motions me to follow him and says, "Let's go, Mack!" Sam frowns at me and then Dean but doesn't protest further. I know that if I stay, I'll ruin Dean's prank so I quickly my notebook and leave with the older Winchester who bursts into laugher the second we're outside.

"You are so stupid," I tell him even though I'm laughing while we get into the car and wait. "Does itching powder even work?"

"Just wait and see." He winks at me just as Sam comes out and climbs into the back seat. After driving around with little luck, we end up at the same burger joint that disgusting all of us the other night. This time it's dead and we grab food before standing around a high-top table to eat. I hate this arrangement, feeling like a munchkin between the two of. Dean is tall enough but Sam is just ridiculous. Right now, he looks ridiculous too – he hasn't been able to walk right or stop squirming since we got here.

It's clear with a glance that Dean put the itching powder in his boxer briefs.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask him innocently as we unwrap our food.

"No, nothing I'm fine," Sam lies, his face in a grimace.

Dean wacks my shoulder and says, "Alright so keep going. What about these tulpas?"

Talking about it gets me excited and I swallow the stale food in my mouth and talk while going into my bag for my book. "OK, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. A group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard, they bring the damn thing to life. Out of thin air."

I glance up and find Sam is too busy with his underwear to be invested and Dean looks kind of bored. "So?" he asks with a mouthful of food.

"So." I roll my eyes at him. "That was 20 monks. Imagine what ten thousand nerds surfing the web could do." Dean raises his eyebrows but gives me a skeptical look. "OK, look. Craig starts the story about Mordecai and then it spreads, goes online. Now, there are countless people all believing in the bastard."

Dean finally puts down his burger and lifts a hand, shaking his head. "Wait, hang on a sec. You're trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordecai, he's real?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"People believe in Santa Clause," he deadpans, his green eyed gaze turning sarcastic. "So how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?"

I punch his arm to punish him for being sarcastic. "Because you're a bad person." He laughs and shrugs but I turn the notebook around for both of them to see. "And because of this. That's a Tibetan Spirit Symbol and Sam took a picture of one exactly like it in the house."

"Yeah, I remember," Sam confirms, nodding and adjusting himself in a way that's nearing indecent. Still, he's at least paying attention now and continues, "You know, Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet you they painted this one without even knowing what it was."

I nod and Dean frowns, definitely take this more seriously now. I tap the drawing again and tell them, "That symbol has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thought like a magnifying glass. So all these people on the hellhound site, staring at the symbol and thinking about Mordecai? I don't know, I think it's enough to bring a tulpa to life."

"It would explain why it keeps changing," Dean mutters, scratching his chin.

I get a little excited now that he seems to be believing my theory. "Right, as the legend changes people think different things and then Mordecai himself changes."

"Like a game of telephone," Sam suggests.

"And it answers why the rock salt didn't work, since he's not a traditional spirit per se," Dean allows. He nods and takes a breath. "OK, so why don't we just get this spirit sigil thingy off the wall and off of the website?"

I shake my head, knowing that he's going to like this part as much as I did. "It's not that simple. Once a tulpa is created, it takes on a life of it's own." We can't destroy it as long as people are still thinking that the legend exists and taking down a website isn't going to help with that. Sam has his laptop on the table suddenly, still bouncing around although Dean is less amused by it right now.

"That's just great," he groans. "So if he really is a thought form, how the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?"

"I don't know but these guys aren't helping us," Sam responds, typing on the keyboard before turning the laptop around to face me and Dean. "Check out their home page." It loads in front of us and then we're watching ourselves come tumbling out of the house. Just behind us, clear in the doorway, is Mordecai. People must be freaking out over this. "Since they uploaded the video, the number of hits has quadrupled in the last day alone."

"Damn."

Dean stares at the screen for a moment and then grabs his burger and coke from the table. "Come on, I have an idea. We need to go find a copy store."

I don't know what he's up to but I gather up the last of my burger for the road and put my notebook away while Sam packs up the laptop. He's grimacing almost to the point that he looks like he's in pain. "I think I'm allergic to our soap or something." At that, his brother starts giggling like a school girl and sauntering away. "He did this?" Sam demands of me, glaring. I put my hands up innocently, wanting nothing to do with this, and follow Dean who is laughing hard enough to incriminate himself for sure. "You're a friggin' jerk!" he shouts behind us.

Dean raises a hand triumphantly and answers, "Oh, yeah!"

 **…** **1 Hour Later, Trailer Park…**

The hellhound boys, Ed and Harry, posted their location on the site for 'fans and hot groupies' to come visit them. I don't know about all that, but it makes finding them to complete Dean's little idea a whole lot easier. "There never gonna go for this," I note.

Sam scoffs. "You could just flirt with them and they will."

I frown up at him but Dean jumps to my rescue. "No one is pimping Mack out. We won't need to." We follow him up to a silver trailer, covered in stupid nerdy bumper stickers – not even the funny kind of nerdy, just the sad and annoying kid. Without hesitating, Dean pounds his fist on the door and makes the trailer rock.

"Who's there?" a squeaky voice calls from inside.

Dean rolls his eyes and calls, "Come on out here, boys." Just a second later, the door opens and they both appear, staring at us like we're the crazy ones. "Will you look at that? Action figures in their original packaging, what a shock." I bite back a snort and elbow him.

"Guys, we need to talk," Sam tells them.

They exchange glances before stepping out of the trailer. "Yeah, um, sorry guys. We're, uh, we're a little bit busy right now." He says it with the air of someone who thinks they're extremely important and it makes me want to kick him in the face.

"OK, well I'll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website." I flash them a hard smile after saying it, able to anticipate the reactions wells enough.

Ed laughs and looks to Harry. "Can you believe these guys? They get us busted last night, we had to spend the night in a holding cell."

"I had to pee in the cell, you know," Harry chirps. "In front of people – and I get stage fright!" I can help a grimace and Harry at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Why should we trust you guys?" Ed asks, looking back and forth between all of us.

"Alright, look, we all know what we saw last night, what's in that house." Sam is speaking in a more patient tone than Dean or I have used but words and the memories make Harry shift around uncomfortably on his face. He got spooked by a little more than public peeing apparently. "But now, thanks to your website, thousands of people know about Mordecai."

I know and continue, not having a hard time sounding sincere now. "That's right and that means people are going to keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person." I look Harry in the eyes and tell him, "Somebody else could get hurt."

"Ed, maybe she's got a point," Harry allows.

"No, no," Ed argues, quickly getting Harry to chime in, "Nope." Ed puffs himself up. "OK, we have an obligation to our fans – to the truth."

His indifference to the situation pisses me off, considering that a girl already died and Mordecai went after my boys last night. I step forward so that I could reach Ed's face if I wanted to and inform him, "Yeah, well I have an obligation to kick both your asses right now."

Harry jumps all the way behind Ed but Sam catches my elbow. "Kenzie, hey. Just forget it, alright?" He motions at them. "These guys…I mean, you could probably bitch slap them both, I could probably even tell them that thing about Mordecai but they aren't gonna help us." I look up at Sam, pretending to glare at him and Dean takes the opportunity to smack his arm. Sam looks appropriate contrite and mutters, "Let's just go."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agrees. He's not even done saying out before the hellhound boys are scrambling, chasing after us and begging for us to wait.

"Hey, just hold on a second here!" Ed calls.

"Yeah, yeah, what thing about Mordecai?" Harry asks, following closely behind us. I fight back a smile; Dean was right about absolutely every single one of their responses including this one.

"Don't tell 'em Sam," I tell him.

"But if they agree to shut the website down – "

"They're not gonna do it," Dean interrupts, his voice firm. "They said so themselves."

Ed panics and shouts, "No, wait! Listen, we'll do it." The three of us start to slow just as we reach the Impala and he emphatically repeats, "We'll do it." I fake a sigh and lean on the car, the three of us exchanging glances.

Sam turns back to them suddenly. "This is pretty big deal, alright? And it wasn't easy to dig up. So…only if we have your word that you'll shut everything down."

Ed has no problem smiling right up into his face and lying, "Totally." Dean turns to me and nods his permission, flashing me a knowing smile while the others can't see his face.

I go into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the paper I know is tucked away there, walking forward so that I can hand it to Ed and Harry. "It's a death certificate from the thirties," I inform them. "We got it at the library. Now, according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

"That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself," Dean chimes in.

"He shot himself?" Harry repeats, the shock evident in his voice.

I motion toward the paper in their hands. "Yep, with a .45 pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of 'em."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact," Dean continues. "They say that if you shoot with a .45 loaded with these special wrought iron rounds, you can kill the son of a bitch." Ed and Harry are breathing heavily by the time we finish, exchanging looks that are way too excited. It takes all of two seconds before Harry turns and takes off running back toward the trailer. Harry makes it a second longer and nods a few times before turning and speed walking after him. Dean raises both of his hands and Sam and I each give him a high five before moving on with the next phase of our plan – dinner.

 **…** **That Night, Local Diner…**

The three of us squeeze into a tiny booth in a tiny local diner, one of those places that only has regulars and the waitress calls you 'hon'. The burgers are great and the beer is cold, so I'm good. It throws me off a little when Sam picks the other side of the booth instead of sitting next to me, which Dean does instead, but he pulls his laptop out almost immediately to monitor the hellhound and I figure that's the reason why. Dean doesn't miss an opportunity to nudge me when I go to take a bite or a drink, but he's keeping my mood off so I don't mind as much as I pretend to.

However, I could do without the doll on the wall. There's a wooden plaque affixed to the wall above our table with some weird mustached man holding a dead fish on it. It would be weird enough on it's on but it took Dean all of three seconds to pull on the string attached to it and find out that the little man has an exceptionally creepy laugh. Dean being Dean, he can't help pulling the string multiple times and reaches across me to do it yet again.

Sam finally looks up after being silent our entire meal and pulls the string as well, stopping the sound immediately. "If you pull that string one more time," he informs Dean. "I will kill you."

For half a second I think Dean is done but then he tugs the string again, giggling like a kid when Sam yanks the doll quiet and gives him the classic bitch face. I can't help laughing around my beer, earning a bitch face of my own. "Come on man," Dean baits his brother. "You need more laughter in your life, you know? You're way too tense." It's hard to disagree with that but Sam just sips his beer and ignores him. Dean looks at with his eyebrows raised and all I can do is shrug.

"Did they post it yet?" Clearly Sam doesn't want to do anything but work right now.

Sam turns the laptop around so that we can read the screen, stabbing at his salad with the vehemence that someone eating a salad instead of meat should be filled with. Seriously…a salad. I shake off my own thoughts and lean into Dean so that I can see the screen even though he's reading aloud. "We've learned from reputable sources that Mordecai Murdoch has a fatal fear of firearms."

"Well, those two did something right," I allow. "How long should we wait?"

Sam slams the top of his laptop down and responds, "Long enough for the story to spread and the legend to change." He smirks and continues, "I figure by nightfall, iron rounds will work on the sucker." He lifts his beer and tilts it toward us to encourage a toast which we both respond to, the bottles making a satisfying 'clink' sound.

Dean moves to put his bottle down after a long swig and then awkwardly moves his hand over the table, still holding the bottle. I frown up at him, finding that he looks confused as well and Sam bursts into laughter. Dean shakes his hand again and I realize that it's very much stuck to his hand. "You didn't," Dean practically growls at Sam.

Sam, still laughing, holds up a small purple tube of super glue and announces, "Oh, I did." I have to cover my mouth to avoid laughing, actually impressed that Sam managed to get him with someone so good. This time, it's Sam who reaches over and tugs on the string to make the creepy wooden man cackle. Dean just continues to shake his hand, staring at the bottle in disbelief while Sam cracks himself up. Leaving me stuck at the table, Sam proceeds to put his laptop away and then gets up from the table.

"You know you have to help me with this, right?" Dean asks, holding his hand out to me. I grab the bottle and give it a tug, getting no move from it at all.

"Let's do this," I tell him. "Turpentine or a crow bar?"

"I hate you."

 **…** **Late, Hell House…**

I'm actually pretty proud of my decision to give that diner twenty bucks for the laughing wooden dude. I just knew it'd drive the cops nuts. We pull it a few times to draw the two officers supposed to be guarding the Hell House into the woods and then use a rock to keep the string pulled, the little dude cackling maniacally while we run for it, back to the house. I hear of the cops demand, "What the hell?" and can't help a giggle.

All I need is the sight of the Hell House to get me into a serious mood, though, knowing damn well that nothing funny awaits us in there. I know that the legend has changed and we have Mordecai's number now but I'm still anxious, the memory of being attacked a little too fresh for me to be comfortable. This time, we're each armed with a pistol and the iron rounds that we made sure was part of the legend. Dean opens the door and I enter first, the weapon and my flashlight aimed and ready as the guys follow me inside.

We quickly check to make sure that the living room and what used to be the dining room, I think, is clear. Dean holds his hand out and I give him the extra flashlight from inside my jacket, frowning at him when he winces. "I barely have any skin left on my palms," he groans.

"Yeah, I'm not touching that line with a ten foot pole," I tell him. Dean stops and turns back to me, shining the flashlight directly into my face so that it's a little harder to see the face he's making at me. I wince now and he puts it down, continuing on through the house and toward the kitchen door at the back of the house. Dean leads us and I take the middle, keeping an eye in every direction. Sam is at my back, walking backward and leaning against me just enough that he knows where I am at all times and doesn't need to look back.

The kitchen door opens without event and the room is empty, leaving us face to face with the root cellar door. It's taunting us now that we know what's down there and I don't relax, keeping my gun leveled and ready for anything as we stare at it. "You think Mordecai is home?" Dean asks.

"I don't know," Sam answers.

I take a breath and prepare to step forward and open the door. "Me neither." The completely unexpected voice from behind me clenches my heart and my stomach plummets. We spin in unison and when I realize that it's the nerds, again in full ghost hunting gear, I wish that I hadn't looked before firing. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" they shout, holding their hands up.

"What are you trying to do, get yourselves killed?" I demand, lowering my gun simply as a credit to good training.

"We were just trying to get a book and movie deal, OK," Ed answers, the two of them gaping at us like we're the ghosts. I'm not going to shoot them but I have every intention smacking at least one of them. I only get to take a step toward them before the distinct sound of someone sharpening metal on metal rings out from the basement.

I abandon Harry and Ed, spinning back around and standing in the same position as Sam and Dean with our iron rounds ready for Mordecai. "Uh, you guys wanna get that door for us?" Ed asks, coming right up beside me and holding his damn camera next to my head for a good shot. I can't pay attention to that right now because the sound is continuing and may even be coming closer.

"Oh, crap," I hear Harry breath. For once, I agree with him. Suddenly there's a creak right behind the door, like someone standing on the top them and just a pop of metal before the door explodes open and reveals Mordecai and his axe. I can only just make out the nerds screaming over all three pistols firing, and I pull the trigger repeatedly because Mordecai just isn't going anywhere until he fades slowly into black again.

 _Shit_.

Without needing to discuss, we split up and prepare for Mordecai to come back at us from any direction. I step into the dining room while Dean moves through it into the living room and Sam stays behind, scanning for him in every direction. There's a moment of silence before Harry and Ed are screaming again. I spin in time to see an axe chop down on the camera and Harry throw himself to the ground. Mordecai disappears on his own and now it's my turn to round on the little idiots just as Ed pulls Harry to his feet.

"Hey!" I shout, demanding their attention. "Didn't you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?"

"Of course we did," Harry answers.

"Yeah but then our server crashed," Ed tells us, my stomach clenching at the news.

"So it never got out," I surmise, looking past them at Sam who has wide eyes.

Dean comes up behind me and adds, "And these guns are useless," waving it around a little carelessly. "Great! Any ideas?" he asks, looking between Sam and me. I tuck the gun into the back of my jeans and shake my head, knowing that we're basically screwed.

"We gotta get outta here!" Harry asserts. He pushes past me and Dean, but Ed just mumbles something I can't understand and looks around him, clearly in shock. Before I have to snap him out of it, Harry returns and grabs his friend by the jacket for a hard shake. "Come on!" This time they both leave, marching their asses quickly back through the living room.

"What now?" Sam asks us. Before we can come up with an answer, Harry and Ed are screaming again.

"Make sure they don't die!" Dean orders. Sam doesn't argue and runs out of the room, disappearing through the living room. Now that I know he's with Mordecai as well, the situation feels more urgent. "OK, we gotta get rid of this bastard – he needs to burn."

 _Lightbulb._ "Dean, that's it!" I practically dive for the book bag and grab both cans of lighter fluid, turning and throwing one of him. Immediately on the same page, we open the cans and start to spread the putrid liquid throughout the room.

"Dean!" Sam shouts from the other room, his voice betraying his distress. Dean spins and gives me a panicked look before looking right past me. He dives, grabbing a can of spray paint that Craig and his cousin left behind. I pull my gun out for backup and throw the duffel over my shoulder, running out of the kitchen behind him and trailing lighter fluid behind me. Inhuman groans lead us toward a hallway and we find Mordecai holding Sam at least an inch off the ground with the handle of the axe pressed to his throat.

"Hey!" Dean shouts, drawing Mordecai's attention. Dean lets loose with his makeshift blow torch and it works, Sam quickly falling to the floor as Mordecai disappears with an angry shout. "Go, go, go!"

Sam is bent in half and heaving so I go to him, pulling his face up to make him look at me. "OK? Come on!" I know we don't have time so I tug him by the jacket and he follows me, coughing hard. Dean comes to Sam's other side, letting him lean on us for support while he wheezes. "Look, Mordecai can't leave the house and we can kill him. So, we improvise." I reach out and grab Dean's lighter, flipping the cap and showing them the flame.

Without waiting for permission or second guesses, I throw the lighter into the living room behind me and watch the entire room erupt into flames. We run hard, all the way out of the front door and until we reach the tree line when Sam grabs my arm and pulls me to stop. Flames are on the second level of the house now as well, blowing out the window. Mordecai stands ominously in the doorway, not taking a step further.

"You two, that was your brilliant solution?" Sam demands, pointing frantically back at the house. "Burn the whole damn place to the ground?"

"No one will go in there anymore," Dean answers simply. "I mean, Mordecai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty, but it works." Yeah, I would have preferred a plan with a little more finesse and some intelligence, but when decisions need to be make quickly I'm not above going with total destruction.

Sam shakes his head. "Well what if the legend changes again and Mordecai is allowed to leave the house?"

"Well," Dean stammers. "I guess we'll just have to come back." Sam isn't completely convinced, I can see it on his face, but he stops questioning us and arguing. We stand there, all of us still panting from running and adrenaline.

Mordecai has since faded and we're just watching the house burn, the heat beginning to reach us and the sound of wood cracking filling the air. "It kinda makes you think," I muse. "Of all the things we've hunted and will hunt…how many exist just because believe in them?" I feel both of their gazes on me but neither of them answers. I don't think I actually want the answer to that question.

 **…** **Next Night, Trailer Park…**

"If I never had to see these idiots again, I'd be fine," I inform Sam and Dean, jumping up onto the top of a picnic table and letting my feet swing off the side. We just got here and the nerds aren't home which apparently means we're waiting for them. Sam comes beside me and leans against the table instead of sitting down with more distance between us. Dean laughs, standing in front of me and looking thoughtfully up at the sky.

"Gentlemen," Ed's voice calls from behind us. I hate that I can recognize his voice now. "And you, pretty lady," he continues, coming into view. They're carrying big brown bags that I assume carry groceries. Since they brought a strong smell of pot with them, I'm willing to bet that those groceries are really just snacks to soothe the munchies.

"Hey guys," Sam calls pleasantly, both of us standing. The two of them walk right past us, no longer shitting their pants and once again adopting that 'holier than thou' style.

"Should we tell 'em?" Harry asks Ed. Sam nudges my arm and I try not to smile.

"Oh, you might as well, they're only gonna read about it in the trades." I can't help but roll my eyes at how cocky he sounds.

They still don't turn back to look at us while we follow their steps as Harry says, "So, this morning we got a call from a very important Hollywood producer."

"Oh yeah? Wrong number?" Dean teases. Harry throws a bitch face back over his shoulder but he should really take lessons from Sam on it.

"No, smartass," Ed answers for his friend. We're approaching a small blue sedan that is packed to the brim on the inside and totally overloaded on the top, literally everything I could think of tied to the top of it – including several plastic pink flamingos. "He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights." Ed drops his bag through open driver's side window and then turns back to us. "His sexy sounding assistant even suggesting having us write it."

"And create the RPG," Harry chimes in.

"The what?" Dean asks, frowning.

"Role playing game," he explains. "Just a little lingo there for ya. Anywho, excuse us. We're off to La La Land." He gives us that thumb and forefinger gun thing with both hands, backing up until he can open the passenger door.

"Well, congratulations guys, that sounds really great," Sam offers.

"Yeah, that's awesome," I agree. "Best of luck to ya."

Ed gives a little chuckle and abandons his car door to walk back toward me, clearly trying to put on a sexy strut and looking more sumo wrestler than John Wayne. "Oh, it's got nothing to do with luck. It's about talent, darling," he informs me, standing close enough that I could punch him square in the throat…if I wanted to. "Sheer, unabashed talent." All I can do is nod and try my hardest not to last. "If you're ever in LA," he breathes, whipping out another business card. "You should give me a call. I have other talents." His obnoxious wink makes my stomach hurt and I don't move to take the card.

It takes a shameful amount of time for him to get the picture and drop his hand, quickly walking backward toward the car. By the time he gets there, he's no longer embarrassed and throws us a peace sign before jumping behind the wheel. The car starts with a struggle and rumbles along slowly past us, none of us turning to watch it go as we all dissolve into laughter. There's really nothing else to do when it comes to Harry and Ed, ghost hunting professionals.

We start walking and Dean mutters, "Wow."

"You hear that, Kenzie?" Sam asks. "You have a sexy phone voice."

"Mmhmm, guess so," I respond laughing. Dean stops as we near the car, gazing between the two of us with a big smile. "Sam's the one who called and told them that he was a producer."

Dean throws his head back and gives a hearty laugh, the sound washing over me. "Yeah, well, I'm the one who put a dead fish in their backseat." Now it's my turn to laugh and it sends all three of us into a fit. Finally we calm and they walked ahead of me to the car.

"OK guys," I call to them. "It's time. Call a truce." They both smirk at me and then look at one another over the top of the car.

"Truce?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, truce," Dean agrees. I feel a little relief until the smile on Dean's face grows. "At least for the next hundred miles." He tosses a wink in my direction before opening the door and climbing into the car. I laugh and walk over, shouldering Sam out of my way so that I can get shot gun. We climb in and Dean starts the engine with that beautiful roar she has, the radio coming on with a little Blue Oyster Cult – really wrapping the whole thing up nicely. With a final smirk at me, Dean puts the car in gear and gets us back on the road.

Knowing that we messed up here and that we missed something, is going to weigh on me for a while. I'm definitely going to be a little more cautious about what we do and don't investigate in the future. That's not necessary a bad thing, though. Our job is saving people and I don't plan on being responsible for death again in the future. Reading my mood, Dean reaches out and ruffles my hair with his hand. "Let's get something fried, OK?"

I smile, appreciating that he knows the way to my heart and nod my agreement. Yeah, we messed up but the job is done and the three of us got out unscathed. At the end of the day, I'm going to count my blessings.


	20. 1x18: Something Wicked

****I know, I know - delays. I really am trying to get one done every week or 2 at the most but tbh chronic illnesses are a bitch to live with. Plus I'm a mama and a grad student. Soooo as much as this is my favorite thing to do, it takes a back burner sometimes. I appreciate you guys still being here after the super painfully long (and just painful) cancer break. Your feedback and comments on the story are awesome. I really missed Mack while I was sick and I'm honored that you love her as much as I do. Keep it coming!****

I'm not sure what came first, the chicken or the egg. I could make an argument for both and not just because I like arguing. Although, let's be honest – I like arguing. It's the same with our newest situation, Dean and I are following John's coordinates on our own while Sam stays behind. Sam needed a break to recover from a cold. We needed a break from Sam to recover from the whining lately. Which came first? I don't know and I don't care as the Impala cruises for hours across the highway, Dean and I switching off so that we make great time to Wisconsin from Georgia where we left Sam.

The only problem? I can't figure out why the hell we're here.

"You missed something," Dean tells me again.

I fight the urge to flip him off. "Dean, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers. I can't find a single red flag." I turn to scowl at him, flipping the script, and ask, "You sure you got the coordinates right?"

"Yeah, I double-checked, it's Fitchburg, Wisconsin." Dean shakes his head. "Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important, Mack."

"I'm not arguing that, I'm just telling you that I looked and all I've found is a big, steamy, pile of nothing," I inform him. "If your dad sent us hunting for something, I don't know what." Dean takes a deep breath as he pulls the car into a small parking lot that's behind a playground. I could use the opportunity to stretch my legs now that we've arrived, so I put the laptop away and get out. As we head for a bench, Dean is a little hunched over and has his hands in his pockets while I link my hands behind my back and try to work out the kinks.

It'd be worked out if I had something to fight.

"You know, maybe he's gonna meet us here," Dean suggests, sitting down heavily on a plastic bench that's been heavily marked up by local teenagers.

I can't help laughing at that idea. "Yeah, 'cause he's been so easy to find up to now."

"You're a real smartass, you know that?" Dean quips, scowling up at me. He's trying to look annoyed but I can see the playful glint in his eyes. Dean doesn't get mad at me; at this point I could get away with just about anything. OK, I come second to Baby – that's for sure. But my pseudo-brother adores me and I don't mind pressing my advantage sometimes. "Don't worry," Dean assures me. "I'm sure there's something in Fitchburgh worth killing."

"Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?" I take the opportunity to look around the small town, quiet for early afternoon. Really quiet, actually…

"Because I'm oldest so I'm always right."

"No it doesn't!"

"It definitely does." I shake my head at him but don't argue, feeling distracted. I felt fine at first but the quiet is getting to me now. "Maybe we should just start asking around, hit a bar." I'm sure that he wants a drink as badly as he wants something to come of this, but I think I'm onto something here.

"Hey, you got the time?"

He reads it off his watch, confirming that it's early afternoon. "Why?"

I motion around us at the playground and surrounding areas. There's almost no one, just one mom sitting on a bench at the opposite side of the park and one little girl on the monkey bars. It's even more depressing with one person than it was a minute ago with no one. I look at Dean and ask, "What's wrong with this picture? Schools out, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, where is everybody? This place should be crawling with kids." I see it register on Dean's face and he sits forward a little, interested. I motion with my head toward the mom and we walk over casually, Dean heading over to the water fountain so that he can hear while I approach the mom. "Sure is quiet out here," I muse, sitting but giving her some space.

It occurs me to that I never could have made myself do this, sit down and chat with a stranger, a few months ago. I've gotten more than a solid right hook with all this work.

"Yeah, it's a real shame," she agrees.

"Why is that?" I clarify.

She gives me a look but keeps her eye mostly on her kid. "You know, those kids getting sick. It's a terrible thing."

"Oh, I hadn't heard," I cover, motioning toward Dean. "I'm on a road trip with my brother." Dean gives her a small smile and quick wave but the mom, wedding ring and all, can't help glancing at him a little too long. I fight the urge to roll my eyes like I do at every woman who drools over him. Yeah, the guy is gorgeous. It'd be nice if they looked past the face every once in a while – I happen to like my brother for what's inside him.

"How many kids?" I ask, trying to get mom back on track.

"Just five or six but serious…hospital serious." She glances back at her daughter and notes, "A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching." I look past her at Dean who nods, silently agreeing with me that we might have just found our case and need to look into this sick kid's thing right away.

We're already in suits, knowing we were approaching the town when we hit the road this morning, so we go right to the area hospital, keeping the radio low this time instead of blasting it the way we've done through the entire 15 hour drive. Lots of laughs, loud sing-a-longs, and bad but delicious food on the way here and now it feels a little more serious. "I had fun on the ride up here," I tell Dean, looking out the window. When he doesn't respond for a minute, I turn to look at him over my shoulder.

He's smirking and teases, "Are you having a chick flick moment?" I scoff and it makes him laugh but he reaches out and catches my shoulder, squeezing. "I know, I know. I had fun, too – best road trip I've had in a long time, actually."

"I won't tell Sam." Dean laughs genuinely and I let the rare sound wash over me. He leans in front of me and flips through some of the crap in there that he's argued is organized a million times. I don't fight him on it anymore and just prefer not to watch so I blindly accept the ID that he hands me before we climb out. It's not until we're inside the hospital that I look at it, just wanting to make sure I know my name.

 _I should have known…_

"Dean." My feet stop even before my brain tells them to. He ignores me and continues down the hall toward a sign that says "visitors". "Dean!" My tone that time makes him stop but the smirk tells me he's done this on purpose. "I am not using this," I announce, holding it up.

"Why?" he asks innocently.

"Dude. It says 'bikini inspector' on it!"

Dean just blinks at me and then shrugs, turning to continue down the hallway. He's still talking which forces me to catch up with him. "Don't worry, kid. She won't look that close. Hell, she probably won't even ask to see it." He motions with his head toward the young, attractive nurse sitting behind the desk that we're aiming for. "It's all about confidence, Mack."

With that, he saunters up to the desk, just a step ahead of me and clears his throat for attention before standing in a power stance with his hands in his pocket. "Hi there." His 'official' voice is deeper than usual and tends to be even more effective than usual with women but I can see immediately that his charm his wasted on this nurse. "I'm Dr. Jerry Kaplan with the Center for Disease Control."

Impersonating a federal officer is a felony and I have a damn bikini inspector ID. _Please don't ask, please don't ask…_ "Can I see some ID?" Her voice is firm but not skeptical. Still, my heart sinks and I try to be casual when I pull out my ID and cover most of it but my picture and 'federal' with my fingers. _God hates me._

When she doesn't question us further, I quickly redirect. "Could you direct us toward the pediatrics wing, please?"

She's much nicer to me and smiles when she responds, "Sure. Just go down this hall, turn left, and take the first set of stairs." We thank her and get on our way, Dean giving me a cocky smile even when he was mostly wrong. I don't push it for now and head up the stairs with him, wishing that we were just about anywhere but a hospital; I hate these places. It's mostly the smell but everything about them kind of freaks me out and I've never met a doctor that I actually liked.

The pediatrics ward is big but we follow the signs toward ICU, going off of what the mom at the park told us. Just inside the automatic doors is a glassed off section with six kids, all lined up on their own bed and connected to a wide array of machines and tubes. None of them appears to be conscious and their various family members are clearly stressed. Dean is reading through a sign on the window when the door inside the area where the kids are being kept opens, a doctor in his early forties coming out.

"Hey, Dean," I call, this time leading him and heading over. We introduce ourselves and ask if he has a moment, fortunately not carded this time. "Thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydaker."

"Sure. I'm glad you guys are here," he tells us, motioning for us to follow him out of the way but still in view of these kids. "I was just about to call the CDC myself. How did you find out anyway?"

Dean jumps in smoothly. "Oh, some GP – I honestly forget his name – he called Atlanta and must have just beat you to the punch." Dr. Hydaker doesn't look necessarily skeptical but I want to keep him from getting that way since we're breaking half a dozen laws right now.

"So, you've got six cases so far is that right?"

He nods and looks through the glass at his patients. I follow his gaze, noting how small they all look even though they're different ages. "Yeah, in five weeks. At first I thought it was bacterial pneumonia, not that newsworthy. But now…" He trails off and shakes his head.

"Now?" Dean presses gently.

"The kids aren't responding to antibiotics and they're white blood cell counts just keep going down," he explains. "Their immune systems just aren't doing their jobs. It's like their bodies are…wearing out." His distress is clear and it makes me frown; these kids are really in bad shape but…is this our kind of thing? I'm still not sure.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" I ask him.

"Never this severe," Dr. Hydaker responds. "And the way it spreads? That's a new one."

"What do you mean?"

"It's working its way through families, but only the children – one sibling after another." What the…

Dean steps forward a bit, moving closer to the glass with a thoughtful expression. "Do you mind if we talk to a couple of the kids?"

Dr. Hydaker pauses for a moment before he explains, "They're not conscious. None of them." I glance up at Dean and find that he looks concerned, too. We deal with a lot of death but six kids from some mystery disease…this would suck a lot.

"Can we talk to the parents then?" I ask, really just grasping at straws. I don't know if this is ours or even if I think it is but we need to try. Dr. Hydaker agrees and brings out the parent of his most recent admission. Only the father comes out, the mother staying next to two beds with girls that look to be a couple years apart in age. He looks exhausted and distraught but comes into a small room with us.

He sits heavily on the couch after we introduce ourselves. "I need to get back to my girls." I know that he's anxious about being away from them, afraid of what could happen.

"We understand, and we really appreciate you talking to us," I assure him. "So, Mary is the oldest?" I ask, looking down at the chart that Dr. Hydaker provided us before going back to work. "And she came down with it first? Then Bethany the next night."

"Right. Look, I already went through all of this with the doctor."

Dean interjects gently, "Just a couple questions, sir. "How do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?"

He shakes his head and answers, "No, we think it was an open window."

I frown and ask, "Both times?" It's pretty irresponsible to let your kids sleep with an open window in the winter anyway but especially two nights in a row.

"The first night, I don't really remember but the second time for sure," he answers. "And…" He pauses and I think it's only because he's so tired that he continues in a softer voice, almost like he's thinking out loud, "I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed."

"You think she opened it?" Dean asked.

The dad shrugs. "It's a second story window, no ledge. No one else could have." Yeah, if only he knew the truth. Of course, I prefer that he doesn't ever know the truth. It's hard enough to live normally in the world when you know what's out there – I can't imagine trying to raise kids without losing my mind about all the potential evil in the world.

Dean and I thank the father and let him get back to his daughter, heading out of the hospital together. We wait until the parking lot to start talking but I can't help being honest with him. "You know…this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia."

"Maybe," he allows. "Or maybe something opened that window." I try not to frown because I don't want to make him mad but Dean either notices or reads my mind and sighs as we reach the car. "Look, I just know that Dad sent us here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree."

He's clearly imploring me to be on his side here and it's hard to deny him, even if that's just out of habit. I'm always on Team Dean and I'm OK with that, really. Besides, with six really sick kids it can't hurt to take a look. "Well, I can tell you one thing. That guys we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home."

Dean brightens and I can tell it means something to him that I'm not holding any ground here. I can be objective as long as we find the truth so we get into the Impala and head for Mary and Bethany's house, using memory to find the address. It's a perfectly normal house in a perfectly normal neighborhood. There's nothing about the girls shared bedroom that looks odd either, everything as you'd expect it.

I take one side and Dean takes the other, each of us moving slowly for anything out of place or weird. "Anything?" he calls to be after a few minutes.

"Not yet," I answer, moving toward the window and keeping my guard up. I test the lock, finding that it definitely works from the inside. So I unlock it instead and lift. There, on the white window sill just outside, is what John Winchester knew we'd find. "Dean. It's not pneumonia," I tell him.

He joins me and we look down at the window where the paint and wood itself has been rotted away into the shape of a handprint…sort of. Not a human handprint anyway. "It's rotted," Dean muses, running his fingers over the wood.

I frown, only more confused, and wonder aloud, "What the hell leaves a handprint like that?" Dean goes stiff beside me so quickly that for a second I think he's going to have a seizure. I look up and find that he's frowning but that his eyes are distant like he's completely somewhere else. "Dean?" He doesn't answer me just blinks a couple times.

Dean snaps out of whatever daydream or fog he was in and announces suddenly, "I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before and he needs us to finish the job."

 **Half Hour Later, Motel**

The entire ride from the house to here, Dean has talked in most incoherent sentences only sort of explaining a hunt that his dad went on once. By the time we get to a motel on the edge of town, I really only have more questions that haven't been answered by the journal. "Wait, so what the hell is a shtriga?" I demand, following him out of the care.

"It's kind of a witch, I think." He shrugs and admits, "I don't know much about them."

That makes sense if he was a kid but still. "I've never heard of it and there's nothing in your dad's journal." Besides, this would be one powerful witch. I'm not sure any like that exist anymore.

"Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, sixteen or seventeen years ago." I hear Dean take a breath and then he tells me, "You were there."

"Wait, what? I was?"

"Yeah, you don't remember?" He asks the question even though he knows I would have been three or four at the time he's talking about so he knows I won't remember. Something about his behavior is off but I have more concerns. "I guess he caught wind it's in Fitchburg now and kicked us the coordinates."

I blink, feeling things click where they shouldn't in my mind. "Wait, wait, you think this thing – this Shtriga – "

"Right."

"You think it's the same one what that your dad hunted before?"

He shrugs as we approach the rental office. "Yeah, maybe."

"Dean, if John Winchester went after it why is it still breathing air?"

I've immediately struck a nerve and he casts a dark look in my direction. "Because it got away."

"Got away?" The answer would be simple enough if it were just about anything else.

"Yeah, got away. It happens Mack!" Dean is snapping at me now which I don't think he's done since the first time we hunted together. I get away with everything – just ask Sam – so why he is mad at me now?

And why is he acting like this is no big deal? "It doesn't happen to your dad. Not often."

Dean takes a deep breath as walk into the rental office of the motel. He lets me in ahead of him but I step to wait for him instead of approaching the desk – I'm not done. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. Maybe Dad didn't have his Wheaties that morning?"

"What else do you remember?"

"Nothing." I frown up at him and Dean scowls again. "I was kid!" he defends. It's not the idea that Dean doesn't remember something that bothers me. Even now, if he doesn't think something is important to him personally or to the job we're on at that moment, he forgets. But if he remember the name of the weird witch thing causing problems 17 years ago, there's no way that he doesn't remember every damn detail of that case.

"King or two queens?" The voice from behind the desk surprises me and I look up to find a kid that can't be more than 9 or 10. He looks bored as hell so I assume this is his parents motel and he's been coerced into helping.

"Two queens," Dean answers.

The kid smirks and mutters, "Or at least one."

My eyebrows fly up at the nerve of the kid but it's hard not to laugh, especially at Dean's expression. "What did you say?"

"Nice car," the kid covers. I laugh then and decide I like this kid. It helps too because Dean finally smiles at me again and shoves my arm.

A wooden door behind the kid opens and a woman comes out instead, calling, "Hi."

"Hi," Dean and I respond in unison.

"Checking in?" She comes to stand behind the desk and rests a hand on top of her son's head. "Do me a favor? Go get your brother some dinner."

"I'm helping a guest," the boy answers, motioning toward us with a sweep of his arm. The smirk that looks so much like a face Dean would make is still there when he quips, "At least one queen." Mom clearly understands and swats him on the back of his head. Dean, in all maturity, gives the kid a cocky smile as he leaves the room.

"Funny kid," I note.

"Yeah, he sure thinks so. Cash or credit?" I look up at Dean, waiting for him to answer and pull out his wallet. Clearly, he's left me again and is stuck somewhere in his head while he stares down at the motel's business card. I quickly jump in and take my own wallet out of my back pocket, giving her a false MasterCard which runs perfectly to charge the room. By the time we're done, Dean is back to reality and trying to act like nothing happens.

In the hotel room, I'm glad that he decides to take a shower so that I can do some research on this thing. I'm not surprised he was right in the end but I am surprised at how far I have to dig to get any real information; shtriga's are not a common occurrence. I've been building my own journal and it's in this one, bound in soft leather, that I record everything I can find about shtriga. Jim keeps a journal and John obviously did so it feels right to me to do this as well; I'm not sure anyone but us will ever use it but Wi-Fi isn't available everywhere so a hard copy never hurt anyone.

Dean emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. I can see with a glance that he still seems a little distracted and stressed out. The combination of seeing those kids sick and knowing that his dad let this thing go once before is getting to him. At least I can deliver good news at the moment. "Well, you were right," I tell him. "It wasn't easy to find, but you were right. A shtriga is a kind of witch."

He nods to confirm that I should continue while fishing through his duffel bag for new clothes. "They're Albanian but legends about them date back to ancient Rome. They feed off of 'spiritus vitae'."

"Spirit what?" he asks, sitting on the bed facing away from me so that he can pull his boxer briefs on without flashing me. Dean isn't exactly modest so I appreciate that he's always been respectful, I think both because I'm like a sister and because I'm with Sam…or something with Sam…I don't know.

 _Focus_.

"It's Latin," I explain. "It translates to breath of life, kind of like your life force or essence. The doctor did say that the kids bodies were wearing out."

Dean stands, wearing jeans now, and faces me. "It's a thought. She takes your vitality, maybe your immunity goes to hell, and pneumonia takes hold."

I nod. "Anyway, shtrigas can feed off anyone but they prefer children."

"Yeah, probably because they have a stronger life force." I imagine he's right. Dean pulls a hunter green t-shirt on and then immediately follows it up with a plaid button-up that I know he's going to leave open. It's like the Winchester uniform. I was shopping last week and found myself admiring some plaid of my own – something that's never happened before. It's contagious or something so I'm going to have to avoid catching that one.

I shake my head, trying to stay on task. "But, listen, shtrigas are invulnerable to all weapons devised by god and man." It's been the part of my research I've focused on, of course.

"No, that's not right," Dean argues. "She's vulnerable when she feeds."

I frown, confused and stare up at him as he comes to stand beside me at the table. "What?"

"If you can her when she's eating, you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron. Buckshot or rounds, I think."

"I haven't found anything about that. How do you know this?" Nothing in the lore or on the internet gave any hint about how to kill her, I searched over and over again.

"Dad told me and I remember."

"Oh. Is there anything else you remember?"

"No that's it." I can't help frowning at him and Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "What?" he demands, defensive.

"You said that you didn't remember much but that's a pretty specific detail. And you're being really weird, Dean. Is something going on?"

His gaze hardens for a moment and I brace myself, figuring that he's about to yell at me again. I don't like it but I hold strong because I have to know what's going on with him. After a beat though, his features soften and he reaches out to ruffle my hair with an affectionate smirk. "No, Mack, nothing's going on. I feel weird about cleaning up Dad's mess is all."

"Makes sense. You could have just told me."

He blinks. "I know. I will. OK?" I nod, believing him, and Dean sits down heavily in the chair across from me. "So, we can kill it when it eats but we've still gotta find the thing first."

"Yeah, and that's not gonna be a cakewalk," I note. "Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they're not hunting."

"What kind of human disguise?" Dean asks, leaning forward to pull his boots on.

"Historically, something innocuous. It could be anything but it's usually a feeble old woman which is probably who the whole witches-as-old-crones-legend got started."

"Well, shit."

I nod but yank out the one thing that I do have to offer to this process. "Check this out, though. I marked down the addresses of the victim." I turn the map toward Dean and motion with my pen. "These are all of the houses that have bit hit so far. Look at what's dead center."

"The hospital." I nod but then jump right out of my skin when Dean slams his fist down on the table. "That old hag!" he shouts. "When we were at the hospital I saw a patient – an old woman!" He's staring at me with wide eyes like he's expecting some big reaction from me.

"An old person in the hospital? Geez, call the coast guard."

"Listen, smartass," he quips, grabbing my pen right out of my hand and throwing it at my face. "She had an inverted cross hanging on her wall." I raise my eyebrows, wishing Dean had said that in the first place. The inverted cross actually has biblical beginnings, with Paul's crucifixion, but many wanna-be devil worshippers utilize it as a snub to God. I'm not going to get scolded by Dean for telling him that, though. I prefer not being the nerd all the time. And whether she has the symbolism wrong, the cross is definitely reason enough to investigate.

 **…** **Late, Town Hospital…**

We take a more inconspicuous entrance this time, using the ambulance bay to slip in during some commotion and then head for maintenance stairs. Dean remembers where he saw the old lady so I follow his lead, letting him check each hallway before taking me into them. I'm close enough that I can smell the leather of his jacket so when he shoves an arm out to the side, it nearly slams into my face. I have to dodge back quickly and I'm glad I did when I hear a nurse say Dr. Hydaker's name, saying goodbye for the evening. Footsteps are coming so I turn my back to the hallway and Dean does the same beside me, keeping him from seeing our faces as he passes.

We double check that he's gone and so is Nurse Betty before moving on, quickly glancing inside every room for someone who might call us out before we pass it. In normal clothes we could pass as visitors easily unless we run into to someone who saw us earlier. I'm recognizing the hallways from earlier and Dean aims right for room 237; the door is shut and the lights are out inside with the blinds drawn so we're going to have to open the door to see inside. Dean motions for me to take the handle as he slides his hands under his jacket and to his back, pulling out one of the guns we loaded with iron rounds earlier.

I smack his arm, starting to panic now that he's whipped out a gun in a hospital, and look around to make sure no one is in the hallway. I motion to the gun and give him a look that I know he'll understand. Dean makes a face that says 'better say than sorry' and just motions to the door again. I roll my eyes but take his lead and slowly turn the handle to minimize the noise before pushing the door open.

In the middle of the room, at the foot of the empty bed, is a wheelchair. All we can see of the woman in it is long white hair. She's not moving, not making a sound, and facing the upside down cross directly. Something about the room makes me feel uneasy immediately so after shutting the door as quietly as I can, I pull out my own gun and aim it at the back of her head. Dean notices and takes a moment to shoot me a cocky look he chooses to ignore. I just shake my head and focus, standing directly behind the old hag while Dean slowly circles around to her front.

At her side, he lowers the gun just a little and starts to lean in closer to her face. The room is completely still and silent except for the pounding I can hear from both of our hearts. The moments drag on, my adrenaline pounding as Dean leans in closer because I have no idea what is about to happen.

Suddenly, the woman who hasn't moved a muscle, snaps her head to face Dean and demands, "Who the hell are you?" I jump almost completely out of my skin, my finger coming dangerously close to squeezing the trigger, and Dean leaps so far away from her that he stumbles into the wall behind him. "Who's there?" the woman demands, turning her head side to side and giving away her blindness. "You trying to steal my stuff? They're always stealing!"

Dean slumps and cover his face with his hand, clearly still trying to gather himself, so I jump in. "No, no, ma'am. We're, uh, maintenance. We're sorry – we thought you were asleep."

"Ah, nonsense – I was sleeping with my peepers open," she announces, letting out a pretty terrifying laugh. "Hey, fix that crucifix would ya? I've asked four damn times already." I can't help a relieved laugh, letting my shoulders relax finally. Clearly this old woman is completely harmless. Dean looks back at the cross, flicks it with one finger, and the thing immediately swings around it its nail to hang correctly. He gazes at me with a stupefied expression, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. All I can do is shrug.

 _What a weird goddamn night_.

 **…** **Back at the hotel…**

We don't get back to the motel until dawn and it takes until then for me to realize how ridiculous what just happened was and start laughing. Dean scowls at me as we park and it only makes me laugh harder. "Oh, crap," I breathe, shutting my door. "'I was sleeping with my peepers open', my God."

Dean shuts his door in a much more grumpy fashion and notes, "I almost smoked that old gal, I swear. It's not funny," he informs me, approaching me at the door of the motel.

"You only say that 'cause you didn't see your face, Dean." I'll never forget – or let him forget – that he almost fell on his ass in fear.

He shoves me playfully, preventing me from unlocking the door, and grumbles, "Yeah, laugh it up Mack. We're back at square one." My laughter fades quickly because he's right and that frustrates me. Dean hits my shoulder again, less rough this time, and says, "Hey, hang on." I follow his gaze toward the rental office where the little kid who called Dean a queen is sitting on a bench outside. He's slumped down and looks distraught, even from a distance.

We start moving toward him at the same time, reaching him in a few short strides. He's a cute kid even though his blonde hair could use a cut and it's clear as we get closer that he's trying not to cry. As we approach, Dean kneels in front of the bench and I take the seat beside him. "Hey, what's wrong?" I ask.

He looks up at me, eyes red, and answers, "My brother's sick?"

"The little guy?" Dean asks, recalling the kid that we glimpsed through an open door when we got here.

He nods and continues, "Pneumonia. He's in the hospital." My stomach clenches. While we were at the hospital fooling around with a bullshit lead, the damn shtriga was right here under our noses and it made another kid sick. "It's my fault."

"What?" I reach out and touch his hair gently. "How is that?"

"I should have made sure the window was latched," he answers, leaning into my touch even while he sniffs. Dean's vibrant green eyes meet mine and harden immediately; now there's no doubt about what did this. "He wouldn't have gotten pneumonia if I'd made sure the window was latched." I can hear the pain in the kid's voice and look away from him, back up at Dean.

I'm caught off guard when I realize that he's still watching me, his expression more pained now than it was a second ago. I don't know why he's looking at me like that but it makes me anxious right away. Dean recovers and shakes his head, looking back to the kid. "Listen to me," he says, getting the kid to look at him. "I can promise you this is not your fault."

"It's my fault to look after him!" Again Dean looks up at me and I see what's clearly pain flash across his face but I don't understand it. Something other than what's happening right now is on his mind, that much I know.

The door to the office opens and his mom comes out, carrying a pillow, blankets, and a well-loved teddy bear. "Michael," she calls to him, quickly moving to a blue Jeep parked right in front of us. Michael stands and we follow, staying behind as he approaches the car but not leaving yet. I'm hoping for a chance to talk to mom but she looks awful so I know it's not right. She starts throwing everything into the backseat while talking to Michael. "I want you to turn on the 'no vacancy' sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service so don't bother with any of the rooms."

"I'm going with you!" Michael argues.

"Not now Michael."

"But I gotta see Asher!" he shouts, raising his voice. His tone is clearly stressing mom out further and it makes me feel terrible.

"Hey, Michael," Dean calls, stepping forward. I follow him, approaching the kid who turns back toward us. "I know you feel, OK? I'm a big brother too." Michael glances at me, assuming Dean is talking about me and I just offer him a smile. "You gotta go easy on your mom right now, OK?"

Michael looks unbearably sad and I reach out, ruffling his hair with my hand the way that Dean does to me at least once a day. It seems to relax him as much as it does me but we both jump when his mom drops her bag and yells, "Damn it!"

"Here, I got it," Dean offers, kneeling and scooping up the bag for her. She thanks him and takes it; I can see even from here that her hands are shaking. "Listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a ride?"

She immediately starts shaking her head. "No, no, I'm – I couldn't possibly – "

"It's no trouble," Dean interrupts her. "My sister can hang out with Michael." I nod to confirm and place my hand on Michael's shoulder, making sure he's OK with it. He leans heavily against my side, clearly in need of a little comfort. "I insist, come on," Dean urges, holding his hand out for her keys.

She finally nods and thanks us, handing over her keys. Dean shuts the passenger door after she climbs in and then motions for me to step away from Michael. His hand on my shoulder is a little too firm and he's extremely serious when he looks down into my eyes. "We're gonna kill this thing," he asserts. "I want it dead – you hear me?" I can only nod and then frown when Dean kisses my head before turning away.

 _What the hell is going on?_

 **…** **Several Hours Later…**

I'm so engrossed in reading that I jump when my phone rings but I grab it quickly, hoping that it'll be Dean. Instead, Sam's name and picture light up on the screen. My insides still get warm when he calls me and this time he's called instead of answering my text, so I'm smiling a little when I answer it. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"I'm getting there," he answers, voice still a little hoarse. "How's it going up there?"

"It's going," I answer vaguely, not wanting to stress him out with all the details. "Your brother is being super weird and we're hunting an ancient Albanian witch. The usual, really." Sam's laugh makes me smile again and I'm happy he hasn't started hacking up a lung yet. "Bored out of your mind yet?"

"Yes," he answers. "You should have just made Dean go alone." I laugh but don't answer because we both know that wouldn't happen. There isn't much that can keep me away from a hunt and I'm really not the type to play nurse. Actually, Dean may have been the better choice to leave at him. I have a feeling he's into role play.

I make myself grimace with the thought and shake it off quickly. "Anyway, I'm hoping we won't be up here for too much longer. You think you'll be able to meet us halfway?"

"I'll figure something out," Sam responds. "I'm working on it now. Miss you." The words catch me off guard and I blink. Things have been…weird, after everything that happened with Meg and John. I don't think Sam believes I did the right thing in letting John go. Actually, I think he's sick of me always being on Dean's side, in his mind anyway. Frankly, I'm tired of feeling like Sam always has one foot out the door. Dean and I live in limbo everyday, wondering if this will be when Sam ditches us again to head back to Stanford. And, no, his blatant attraction to Meg doesn't help how I feel about the whole thing.

Still…

"I miss you, too." I mean it. I miss how easy our relationship or whatever it really was used to be. Sam still makes my mouth go dry and seeing him on the caller ID gives me butterflies. Shouldn't everything else be kind of easy? My phone beeps and I glance at the screen to find that Dean is on the other line. "Hey, listen, Dean is calling me. I have to go."

"I know." His words are weighted with the understanding that the job comes before him, before whatever we need to talk about. "I'll see you, probably in a couple days. Stay safe."

"I will. Get better." With that I end the call and answer Dean on the other line. "Hey, how's the kid?"

"Not good," Dean answers solemnly. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the office at the motel – they have a computer and miraculously the library here is pretty digitized," I tell him, my mind quickly flipping back into my work. . "I'm trying to find out everything I can about this shtriga."

"Yeah what do ya got?" he asks, voice hushed like he's not in a private place.

I take a breath. "Not good news. I started in Fort Douglas around the time you said John was there."

"Yeah, and?"

"Same deal. Before that, there was Ogdenville and before that North Haverbrook and Brockway. Every 15 or 20 years this thing hits a new town." I sit back heavily in my chair, clicking through another article. "Dean, this thing is just getting started in Fitchburg. In all these other places, it goes on for months and dozens of kids before the shtriga finally moves on." I shake my head at the screen. "Kids just languish in comas…and then they die."

"How far back does this thing go?" Dean presses, voice stressed.

I sigh and tell him, "I don't know." I quickly start navigating back to the article I'm looking for when I tell him about it, explaining, "The earliest mention I could find is this place called Black River Falls, back in the 1890s." I get the article up, and shake my head at the headline talking about 38 kids dead in a matter of months. "Talk about a horror show."

I flip the newspaper article toward the front, to a page with the headline 'Doctors Battle Mysterious Ailment." There's a picture that I just glazed over before but my eyes are drawn to it now…to one of half a dozen doctors examining a patient…a doctor I recognize. "Whoa," I hear myself breathe.

"Mack?"

"Dean, I'm looking at a photograph right now of a bunch of doctors standing around a kids bed. One of the doctors is definitely Hydaker."

"And?" Dean asks on the other end.

"And this picture was taken in 1893." _Got him._

Dean's voice is grim. "You're sure it's him?"

"Yes, yeah absolutely," I assure him, absolutely confident that I know the face in this picture. I know it's the same doctor who seemed so concerned about the kids and relieved that the CDC was getting involved.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters in a way that makes me sure they're in the same room now. I hope he doesn't do something stupid but wait, listening to his even breathing though the phone. "I'm on my way." The call ends and I drop my phone, taking a deep breath.

Time to get this guy dead.

Dean gets back to the motel with an hour and by then, I'm agitated at the whole thing, pacing our hotel room and disgusted with Hydaker. "We should have thought of this before," I groan, walking in front of Dean where he sits on one of the beds. "Doctor is the perfect disguise; you're trusted, you're in control of the whole thing."

He exhales sharply and stands, yanking of his jacket and tossing it aside as he growls again, "That son of a bitch."

I turn back to him, watching him look out the window. "I'm surprised you didn't draw on him right there," I admit.

Dean gives a harsh laugh and then glares at me for a beat. "Yeah, well, first of all – I'm not gonna open fire a friggin' pediatrics ward."

"Good call."

"Second, it wouldn't have done any good because the bastard is bulletproof unless he's chowing down on something. And third." He turns and looks back at me. "I wasn't packing which is probably a really good thing because I probably would've just burnt a clip in him off of principle alone."

I watch Dean run his hands roughly through his hair, the tension rolling off of him in waves. "You're getting wise in your old age, Dean."

"Damn right. And now I know how we're gonna get it." He looks extremely confident and I frown, silently asking the question. "The shtriga works through siblings, right?"

"Right." It clicks in my head and I feel my spine straighten. "Last night it when after Asher."

Dean nods. "I'm thinking tonight it's probably coming after Michael."

"We have to get him out of here!"

"No. No, that'll blow the whole deal."

I blink, completely taken aback, and demand, "What the hell are you talking about?" Dean just raises his eyebrows at me suggesting I already know. "You wanna use that kid as bait?" I clarify, upset that we're even saying this out loud. "Are you nuts? No! Forget it, Dean, that's out of the question."

"It's not out of the question, Mack, it's the only way!" he argues. "If this thing disappears, it could be years before we get another chance."

I gape at him, having to look up now that we're standing just a few feet apart. "Michael is just a kid – a sweet kid! I'm not gonna dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook." While Dean was gone, Michael and I played checkers, watched a movie, and talked. He's a good kid, smart and compassionate and funny. I don't want him to ruin this the way knowing what we know ruined our childhoods.

Dean's jaw twitches, his temper rising in tempo with mine. "Dad did not send me here to walk away!"

"Send you?" I repeat, confused that we're still on that. "He didn't send _you_ here, Dean, he sent us here."

"Damnit Mackenzie, this isn't about you!" he shouts before spinning and walking away from me. "I'm the one who screwed up. It's my fault. There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of me." I watch his shoulders fall, their proud height suddenly burdened by a weight I don't understand.

"Dean, what are you saying? How is it your fault?" He doesn't answer or move for a beat and I throw up my hands. "Dean, you've been hiding something from the get go. Since when does your dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away?" Dean moves and sits down on one of the beds, his elbows on his knees. I take the edge of the mattress, sitting right next to him. "Since when do you keep thing from _me_? Please talk to me. You have to tell me what's going on."

Dean takes a deep breath and I wait, knowing that he's getting ready. Finally, after several seconds, he begins, "Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. It was the third night in this cramped room and I was climbing the walls after having to babysit you and Sammy. I needed to get some air." I nod, understanding because I have vague memories of John having me stay with Dean alone a lot when I was with them.

His voice is a little more urgent when he explains, "I just went to the next building when you guys were asleep, just a few feet away. I played video games for a little while – I wasn't gone that long." I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me or himself but I don't interrupt. "I got back and…as soon as I got inside, I knew something was wrong. Maybe it was the bedroom door, I don't know. But I knew."

I watch his throat work on a gulp. "It was there, in the bedroom…on you." I blink, surprised. "It was just starting to feed, I was watching it suck your soul or whatever…right out of you. And you were so little." I've never heard this story and can only listen now, confused and enraptured. "I picked up the shotgun but I was stupid and the thing heard me click off the safety. It looked right up at me and made this horrible noise…I froze."

"Dad busted in right then, yelled at me to get out of the way, must have emptied the whole clip but it didn't do any good. Thing went right through the window, shattered it and disappeared." Dean shakes his head and continues, "I've never seen my dad look as scared as when he went to you, saying your name like he was begging you to wake up. You just didn't know why he woke you up, why he was…he was crying."

I watch him, feeling like I can see his heart break all over again while he's telling the story. He shakes his head and straightens a little. "Dad just grabbed us all and booked, dropped us back off at Pastor Jim's. Jim took you to the hospital and everything, they were sure the thing did something to you. But by the time Dad got back to Fort Douglas, maybe six hours, it had already disappeared. It was just gone and it never resurfaced until now. Dad never spoke about it again and I didn't ask but he, uh…he looked at me different, you know? And I wasn't allowed to babysit you again after that, Dad wouldn't trust me."

I know how much John's approval means to Dean and how much it probably meant to Dean as a child who just wanted to be a damn child. Dean shakes his head and continues, "Not that I blame him. He gave me an order and I didn't listen. I almost got you killed."

"You were just a kid."

"Don't," he breathes, tensing again. "Don't." He glances at me and I nod, promising not to make excuses for him. "Dad knew this was unfinished business for me and he sent me here to finish it."

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But using Michael?" I ask, looking up at him. "I don't know Dean. I mean, how about one of us hides under the cover. You know we could be the bait instead."

"It won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed, it'll see us." I push to my feet, frustrated all over again. "Believe me, Mack, I don't like it. But it's gotta be the kid." Dean stands up, towering over me, and places his hands down on my shoulders. "He'll do it and he'll be fine. He's a big brother – we'd do anything for you guys." I sigh and nod, agreeing to go ahead with the plan. Michael is scared for Asher and would do anything for him…but we're asking a lot of a kid who has no idea what goes bump in the night.

 **…** **Nightfall…**

Michael may be a big brother but he's a little kid and he reacts in pretty much exactly the way I anticipate. "You're crazy!" he shouts at us from over the counter. He holds the phone up over his head, brandishing it like a weapon. "Just…go away or I'm calling the cops!"

"Hand on a second, OK? Just listen to me – you have to believe me," Dean pleads with him, leaning on the counter. "This thing came through the window and it attacked your brother." Michael swallows hard but doesn't put the phone down. "Now, I've seen it. I know what it looks like, because it attacked my sister when we were little too."

Michael's face screws up for a second and he looks at me to confirm. I nod slowly and he caves, putting the phone back into the receiver. "This thing," he breathes, looking up at Dean. "Is it…does it have this long, black robe?"

Dean glances back at me to confirm and my stomach clenches. "You saw it last night, didn't you buddy?" I ask gently.

"I thought I was having a nightmare," Michael admits, looking down at his sneakers in what is definitely shame. I feel sick to my stomach knowing that Michael has some hard truths to learn. I walk around the counter to the side that he's standing on and sit down on the stool, reaching out and taking his wrists inside my hands so that I know I have his attention.

"Michael, I'd give anything not to have to tell you this…but sometimes nightmares are real," I tell him honestly. I feel like I can see some of the light in his eyes go out right then and it's heart breaking. This kid is never going to be the same…but he'll be alive.

"So why are you telling me?" he asks.

"Because we need your help."

"My help?"

Dean nods and explains, "We can kill it – me and her, it's what we do. But we can't do it without you." Michael looks back and forth between us, the realization blooming on his face. He pulls his hands from mine and takes a step backward.

"What? No!" he protests.

"Michael, listen to me," Dean urges him. "This thing hurt Asher." Michael's jaw clenches. "And it's gonna keep hurting kids unless we stop it. Do you understand me?" Michael blinks but says nothing and after a beat, he turns and walks into the back office that leads to his apartment, shutting the door behind him. A loud click signifies that he's locked it as well and I sigh, looking up at Dean.

There's nothing more we can do – we certainly can't force the kid – so with the sun setting we head back to our motel room. "Well that went crappy," Dean groans practically slamming the door behind us. "Now what?"

"What did you expect?" I ask, throwing myself down on the bed. "You can't ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid." I reach under the bedside table and pull out a bottle of whiskey we bought on the way up here, knowing we'd need or want it at some point. Dean nods, both at my statement and at the whiskey I think, and grabs two glasses from the table. I'm sure they're intended for water but we know better.

He sits heavily on the bed other bed, facing me, and I pour each of us a double. We lift our glasses to one another in toast but before I get a drink, there's a knock on the door. I can't help but raise my eyebrows, wondering if it could be our nine year old savior. Sure enough, Dean pulls it open to reveal Michael shifting from foot to foot anxiously. "If you kill it, will Asher get better?" he asks.

Dean looks back at me and I shrug. We have no way of knowing the answer to that. "Honestly? We don't know," I tell him, standing as well but staying back. Dean has stepped aside but Michael isn't coming in.

Michael looks up at Dean. "You said you're a big brother?"

"Yep."

"You take care of your little sister? You'd do anything for her?"

Dean looks back at me again and for a moment I think he's going to correct Michael, for the sake of honesty if nothing else. Instead, he smiles just a tiny bit and answers, "Yeah, I would." I feel my face start to heat up and curse him for it but stay silent.

"So would I," Michael asserts, straightening up to his full out and pushing his chest out a little. "I'll help."

 **…** **Late…**

We keep Michael busy and moving, knowing that he shouldn't stop to think into this too much or he might change his mind. There's enough to do anyway, getting the room arranged and surveillance set up so that we can keep him safe and be ready. Michael is still wearing his clothes and shoes but is getting ready to climb into bed, pale as all hell. I want to make him feel better so while setting up the final camera I explain, "This camera has night vision, so we'll be able to see you clear as day. Dean are we good?"

"Hair to the right," he calls from the other room. "There, there."

"What do I do?" Michael asks. I turn to face him, finding a kid that looks his age.

"You just stay under the covers."

He swallows. "And if it shows up?"

I walk closer and sit down on his bed, hoping that it's a sign that I'm not as tense as he is – even if I feel like I might throw up. "Me and Dean are gonna be right in the next room, watching. We're gonna come in with guns so as soon as we do, you roll off this bed and you crawl under it."

"What if you shoot me?" he asks.

That makes me smile. "We won't shoot you. We're good at this." Michael sits next to me. "Have you heard a gunshot before?"

"Like in movies?"

"It's gonna be a lot louder than in the movies, so I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, and do not come out until we say so. Understand?" He nods firmly and seems clear on it so I quit harping.

"Michael," Dean calls, entering the room slowly. "Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. It's OK, we won't be mad. No one will." I offer Dean a smile, appreciating that he is nervous about the kid's wellbeing even if this was his plan.

The kid shakes his head and assures us, "No, I'm OK. Just don't shoot me."

We both laugh but Dean reassures him seriously. "We're not going to let anything happen to you. We promise." I look down at Michael and nod to agree even though it's a promise neither one of us can be sure we'll keep. I still hate this plan more than I've ever hated a plan. I wish John had killed this damn thing when it came after me.

We get Michael into bed, turn out the lights, and head into the next room where we can watch him on my laptop. Time ticks on, Michael unable to sleep – thank God – and staying as still as he can while Dean and I fidget almost endlessly. We field a call from Sam and then one from Jim, drink almost a whole pot of coffee, and Dean gets halfway through some car magazine before he throws it down and asks, "What time is it?"

I check my watch and tell him, "Three." Then, because I'm anxious, I ask, "You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?"

"Consecrated iron rounds, yeah, it's what my dad used last time," Dean answers. He sounds certain and that makes me feel better about it. I wish John had recorded something about the shtriga in his journal…I still wonder why he didn't.

I keep my eyes on the screen even though I'm not expecting much. And I don't get much because I feel the thing coming before I see it, turning toward our window and half expecting it to be there. There's nothing so I spin back to the camera, hairs all over my body standing on edge because _I know_ it's here.

On screen, something moves near the window. A tree branch…with long fingers? "Dean." He's at my side in a second and we watch a long, totally unnatural hand start to move the window up. Michael sees it, his entire body frozen excepts for his eyes which flick up toward the camera for just a second. I hold my breath and my gun, finger on the trigger. Dean is breathing at a steady pace, his hands wrapped firmly around his own gun as the shtriga enters Michael's room at stares at him for a long moment. "Now?"

"Not yet." I wince, knowing that would be his answer and that this would be the hard part. We have to let the damn thing get vulnerable and that means putting Michael in just as vulnerable a spot. The camera starts to flicker but it holds and Michael stays silent and still.

My mouth is dry watching the thing get closer to him before leaning down, placing his hands on either side of Michael like a parent leaning down to give their kid a goodnight kiss. As soon as it leans close enough to cover Michael's face from our view, Dean says, "Now." There's no hesitation from me, both of us leaping up and into the next room. He steps in front of me and kicks the door open with a loud bang, yelling, "Hey!"

"Michael, now!" I should and just in time, Michael rolls off of the bed. Dean fires a shot before me but we each fire four more times, watching the thing jerk with every blow before it finally collapses. "Michael, you alright?"

"Yeah," he answers.

"Sit tight," Dean tells, circling the beds and leveling his weapon toward the shtriga just in case. I back him up, staying just a step behind him and getting myself into a position where I think I could protect Michael if I needed to. The thing is completely motionless, its twisted face mostly still covered by the hood but revealed enough in the moonlight to show us closed eyes. There's no blood but we weren't really expected any and after a pause, Dean looks up to me. I offer a little shrug because I don't know how to know for sure but start to lower my gun.

Dean exhales – I think for the first time – drops his arms as well. The second he's not prepared, the thing is on him and I watch horrible, wrinkly, off white hands grab his face. "Dean!" I shout as he's launched clear across the room, smacking hard enough to crack some wood paneling and bring a few things down off of the wall on top of him when he hits the floor just as hard.

The thing moves in a flash, getting to me before I can even get my gun back up. Cold hands grip my throat and then I'm off the ground, hitting the wall on the opposite side of the room. It knocks the wind out of me but I land on a beanbag chair which soften the blow enough that I can register my gun nearby. With a hard thud and a hell of a lot more weight than I was anticipating, the shtriga is on top of me with one hand holding head still by my jaw and the other pushing my hear back from my face in what is much more threatening than caress.

I struggle, trying to push it off of me with my body weight but it's useless with only one free arm and a lot less mass to me. I don't waste that arm hitting the thing and reach for my gun instead, feeling its face coming lower and lower toward mine. My heart is pounding and I reach up for its face again, trying to shove that part of it away from me at least but the hand that was in my hair only goes for my throat and hold tight enough to cause panic. I thrash my legs and free arm, trying to get out from under the damn thing but it's horrible, black mouth is opening.

I know the moment it starts to suck my life force out of me. It doesn't hurt, not really, just feels kind of cold and really…wrong. My legs go limp, the energy to continue kicking them just not there anymore and I feel my arm drop to my side. I get very cold, very quickly and my eyes grow heavy. The sound of Dean's voice yelling "Hey!" snaps them back open and I hear the gunshot ring out loud and clear. The moment the thing goes flying off of me from the force of having a bullet put into his skull, I'm flooded with a comfortable warmth and instantly feel better again.

"Mackenzie Lynne," Dean calls firmly from behind me. "You OK?" My breaths are still coming in gulps so I just raise both of my thumbs, giving myself a second before rolling off of the beanbag and using Asher's empty bed to push myself up. Dean catches my elbow and helps before I can get all the way and I lean into him, not for strength but for comfort – and when he wraps an arm around my shoulder I know it's for the same reason. His head is bleeding but he doesn't seem to notice, releasing me to approach the shtriga's body again.

It's motionless again, eyes open, and little tufts of what look like steam are streaming out of its mouth. Dean stands over him and calmly unloads the remaining three shots of his clip into the thing's face, not impeding the flow of life forces heading back to their rightful bodies while the shtriga starts to fade into dust. I see a blonde head pop up from in between the beds and extend a hand to the kid. "It's OK, Michael," I tell him, my voice surprisingly normal. "You can come on out."

Michael stands and approaches staring down at the thing for a beat before he looks up at us, disbelief and relief and almost pride on his little face. I smile and ruffle his head, Dean patting his shoulder. He did good…kid might make a good hunter someday. The thought makes all of this bittersweet, knowing that to pull this one off we had to ruin a kid's innocence. He'll never sleep as well as he did before, never stop wondering what's out there waiting to hurt him or Asher again.

Dean looks down at me, his face telling me that he knows what I'm thinking. He offers me a small smile as well and the ruffles my hair like I just did to Michael. I get the message. We're all alive and we put a stop to this. No more kids are going to die at the hands of this thing, now just dust and black robes on a bedroom floor in Wisconsin.

 **…** **Morning…**

I'm up and showered before Dean gets out of bed but he hurries and meets me at the trunk of the Impala with his bag as I'm putting away the consecrated iron rounds for a while. We hear a horn honk and turn, finding a familiar blue Jeep pulling in. We abandon the car and quickly head over to the rental office, getting there just as Michael comes running out of the office and his mom gets out of the Jeep.

She smiles brightly, laughs, and wraps her older son up in a hug. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the mom of sick kid couldn't smile like that. "I've got some good news," she tells Michael. "Your brother's going to be just fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really! No one can explain it, it's, uh…it's a miracle." I nudge Dean with my side and hear him give a low chuckle. Most people wouldn't call us miracle workers if they knew the truth, but I'll take this one as a win. "He's gonna stay one more night just to be careful but after that he's coming home." She turns to beam up at us, her joy radiating.

"That's great," Dean offers.

"How are all the other kids doing?" I ask.

"Good! Real good," she answers, smiling and nodding. "They should all be checking out in the next few days. Dr. Travis says the ward's gonna be like a ghost town."

I laugh and note, "That's a good thing to have to call a kid's ward." She nods enthusiastically, her arms wrapped tightly around Michael. I can't help looking at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. His mom will assume he's been worried…but I know the truth. He's been changed.

Dean clears his throat and asks, "Dr. Travis? What about Dr. Hydaker?"

"Oh, he wasn't in today. Must have been sick or something." She shrugs casually and we just nod, letting it sink in that we had the right guy and he's really gone. "So, did anything happen while I was gone?"

Michael doesn't miss a beat and answers in a upbeat voice, "No, same old stuff."

"OK. You wanna go see Ash?" his mom offers. Michael's face breaks into a huge smile and he nods, pausing for long enough to smile at Dean and me before turning and running to the Jeep. His mom laughs and says, "I should get going before he hot wires the car and drives himself. Thank you, for your help."

"No problem," I assure her, offering a little wave and she turns and heads for the car. I start to turn away and catch Dean taking a moment to look at her ass. "You're disgusting," I tease, moving back to the trunk. We finish and close it up, moving to our respective sides of the car with Dean taking the driver's seat. I wait before climbing in, watching the Jeep leave the parking lot. Dean looks back to see what I'm staring at and then gives me raised eyebrows, questioning. "Michael's never gonna be the same. He'll always know there are things out there in the dark."

"Yeah," Dean breaths, looking down a little.

"You know…I love what we do – probably more than I should." He laughs and nods, understanding me on every level I know. "But sometimes I just wish…"

"What?"

"I wish I could've had that kind of innocence," I respond. "Just for a little while."

Dean gazes at me, kind of pensive I think, and then turns back to watch the Jeep turn a corner. He takes a breath before pulling open the door to the car and I follow suit, getting in as he does. Dean starts the engine but doesn't put the car in gear. After a beat, he looks over at me again. "For what it's worth? I wish you could've had that innocence too." It makes me smile because I know he means without it being worried that I'm going to ditch him.

 _Still…_

"OK, no more chick flick moments, Dean," I tease him. I lunge for the radio at the same time he does, letting him slap my hands away before leaning in with my whole body to knock his arm aside and get to the dials, both of us laughing as I start up a mix tap I know is in the player. REO Speedwagon fills the car and we join in after a beat, letting ourselves be innocent for at least as long as the song lasts.


End file.
